I Love You, Deartháir Beag
by TheMortition
Summary: Ireland and England are still having complications years after the Irish War of Independence. Now, in a more modern time, a little decision of England's causes the two brothers to commit to a forbidden act. Can England put aside his feelings of having Ireland back in the United Kingdom or will he push him away from him forever? Rated M for later chapters.
1. Nightmares from the Past

Okay, first Hetalia fic. Sorry if it sucks or doesn't seem right. By the way, you're going to need to read this bit of information or else you'll be so confused when reading this.

This is my OC and what you need to know about him as you're reading:

Nation: Ireland

Name: Seamus O'Conner (he use to be a Kirkland before he gained his independence)

Age: Looks like he's 25-years-old.

Description: Short orange hair (it's straight in the front but very messy in the back [no, not like emo/scene hair]), green eyes, green rimmed glasses, bushy eyebrows, freckles along his face, a green shirt with a black clover on it, brown cargo shorts, green and black striped socks that go to below his knees, and brown boots.

Interests: Leprechauns, superstitions, potatoes, the color green, beer, singing/humming random songs.

Dislikes: Certain nations, Friday the 13th, bad omens.

Family: Brothers are Scotland, Wales, England, and Northern Ireland.

Friends: Russia, the Bad Friends Trio, Germany, leprechauns.

**Warning:** Yaoi, maybe some OOC-ness, incest, Irish stereotypes (I don't mean to offend if I hurt anyone's feelings), human names used, maybe a spoiler here and there, and I'm too serious so this fic may be less comedic.

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Hetalia: Axis Powers, I wouldn't be writing any of this. I'd be busy making this become an episode, which I can't do because I don't have the skills or ideas of its respective creator, Hidekaz Himaruya. Simply put.

**Extra Warning:** This chapter is a bit brutal.

* * *

Gunshots rang through the air like fireworks, their bullets either hitting the muddy ground or warm flesh. Shouts of commands could bearly be heard by the men as they shot and reloaded their guns. The night was humid from that afternoon's rain, making a haunting mist glide across the grounds. He sat there behind a thick tree as he waited for the pain in his leg to subside. He didn't think his own brother would actually shoot him in the foot. When it comes to war, it seems that not even blood matters. It's always the enemy that you're fighting against whether you're related to them or not. Ireland had already come to terms with this around the time this all started.

It was July of 1921. Ireland had been fighting for his independence for about two and a half years now. He knew it wasn't going to be easy. He had to see the madness England went through in order to keep America as his colony. And now he had to face this madness himself as England searched for him.

Ireland had to remind himself that on the battlefield, he wasn't facing England as his brother. He was facing the United Kingdom. His twin brother representing the northern part of him refused to fight along side him. Although, he didn't fight against him either. Ireland assumed that he was waiting to see what would happen when it was all over. No matter what the result of this would be, he knew that the younger twin wouldn't speak to him for awhile. None of his brothers would speak to him for doing this. That was the sacrifice he was willing to make in order to be free.

Footsteps sounded close by as the battle behind him raged further. Ireland didn't want to look behind the tree to see if it was one of his or England's soldiers. At this point, everyone was trigger happy.

Looking down, he saw that his leg was bleeding pretty badly, causing a pool of blood to leak past the tree. It was too late to hide the blood on the ground. If the man saw it, he obviously knows there's someone wounded behind the tree. Ireland was an easy capture at this moment.

Whoever you are, I won't go down so easily. He forced himself to stand, using the tree to help him up. The pain instantly surged through his ankle and foot, making the Irish nation hiss. He drew a short intake of breath as he tried to press onto his right foot. The stinging feeling of the bullet entering him increased the more he put pressure on it. He'll definitely need something to balance on when this night was over.

Ireland readied his pistol as the footsteps got closer. He had already ran out of ammunition for his rifle which was strapped securely to his back. All he had left was the pistol and plenty of rounds to use.

The footsteps were much closer now. Ireland's leg wouldn't stop screaming out its agony as he turned his body a little to strike at the soldier. He was prepared to kill as he leaped from behind the tree and shot at the man. He was only at arms length when he heard another shot of a gun going off. The Irishman widened his eyes in shock. The man he was pointing his pistol to was England. The shot that went off was from his brother's rifle who, unlike Ireland's pistol, met its target in the older nation's left side.

Ireland leaned forward as the familiar burn went through his side. He gasped in a breath only to spit out blood onto England's boots. He began coughing then, more blood drooling down his chin. Ireland looked up to see England had no remorse for what he'd done. Not that he blamed him. It was Ireland who refused to belong to the United Kingdom. He also realized from the singe of England's hair that, had he aimed a few centimeters to the left, he would've shot his little brother in the head.

Ireland raised his pistol to England's forehead, his arm shaking from the nerves reacting in his body. He was growing weak from the gunshot wounds. England was at a good advantage in winning this battle. They both knew this.

With his rifle still aimed at his older brother's chest, England asked, "You want to give up now?" Ireland looked him in the eyes, seeing the anticipation in those bright green orbs. There was also anxiety and hope hidden in that sea of green. The Brit's face stayed emotionless as he pressed the gun further into Ireland's chest, his finger close to the trigger.

Ireland coughed out another spittle of blood onto England's rifle. His will to continue was weakening along with his body. There was no way he could actually shoot his little brother in the head and go on to live as the Republic of Ireland. He couldn't do that. Even if that meant there would be tension between them, he wasn't going to be responsible for the fall of the United Kingdom. God only knows how the other nations would react.

"Is it that bad?" Ireland asked, straining to speak. England raised an eyebrow at him but didn't say anything. "Is it that bad to where you have to point a gun at me, Deartháir Beag?" (T: Little Brother)

"It was your decision to abandon us. You'll have to face the consequences."

"There you go again, England. Making this seem more than what it is."

"Isn't it the truth?"

"No. It's not. I'm doing this because I can't stand living with you."

"I thought you loved your brothers, South."

"I do. I love all of you. But I can't continue living under your roof."

"That's very disappointing to hear, South. I was hoping you'd come to your senses by now."

"I'm afraid you'll have to give up on those hopes. I won't stop until I've gained my freedom." Something changed in England's eyes after Ireland said that. He looked like he would've teared up if the situation allowed it. Even though they were alone, England refused to show Ireland how much it hurt to hear that. He quickly put on an angry expression to mask his real emotions.

England thrust the gun into Ireland's chest and pushed him into the tree. The pain in Ireland's side and leg rushed through his body, making him moan out his extreme discomfort. The sudden action forced him to drop his pistol to the ground by his injured leg. England positioned his gun at Ireland's heart, his finger hovering over the trigger.

"Are you sure you don't want to surrender and come back home? I'm sure, if you cooperate, everyone will forgive you. Even North."

"But, England, my people won't go along with that. There will be more rebellions, violence to your people, and possibly another war."

"I'm sure you can pull a few strings to get them under control." Ireland stared his brother in the face. He was serious. He was going to make him turn against his people if he came back. How could he be this cruel? There was no way Ireland could do that to his people. They fought for two and a half years for this. If he quit now, everybody would think that this whole thing was a waste of time.

The thing was, Ireland couldn't continue with this war. His will to fight was slipping away from him as each battle wore on. So many of their soldiers died because of this. One side fighting to be free from the United Kingdom, the other struggling to keep the enemy contained. The war will only end with either Ireland's surrender or England's approval.

"England..." Ireland breathed out, "I don't want to fight anymore." A hopeful look danced in England's eyes. He was glad that Ireland decided to stop. He was going to have to say a few things to him when they returned home. Maybe he'll create a policy or two to ensure that Ireland's people stay under control through the next several years. More importantly, he'll have to make sure Ireland doesn't do something like this again. He'll figure everything out once they declare this war over.

Ireland wrapped his hand around the barrel of England's rifle and pulled it up to his forehead. England was shocked by this. He couldn't possibly mean what this is suggesting. There's no way he's allowing England to kill him.

"Do it."

"What?!"

"If it's so unbearable for you to see me gain my independence, then go ahead and shoot me."

"You're... not being serious... are you?" Ireland's eyes held all the seriousness in the world. He was willing to die for his freedom.

"What's wrong?" Ireland asked without any emotion to his voice, "Can you not bring yourself to do it? Do you need a little help?"

"You sick bastard! Do you really think I could shoot my own brother in the head?"

"Why not? You almost did it to America." Now Ireland was taunting England.

"I know and I regret it! I'm not going to shoot you, South!"

"Either you kill me right now or you let me be independent."

"I won't agree to either of those!"

"Wrong answer, England. There is no third option."

"There is a third option when I say there is, and I'm not going to shoot you."

"Well, I'm not coming back to you so you're back to square one. Shoot me or let me go."

"I told you I can't do either of those! Stop being ridiculous and come home!"

"And wake up to your disgraceful face every morning?"

"Disgraceful?"

"Did you really think I wanted to be in the United Kingdom? You forced me and North to join because you were upset that America was no longer yours! You selfish little prick!"

"That's not why-"

"Don't deny it! It's too late to forgive you now! Nothing you do will make me want to come back! Even if you apologize for the next 100 years, I will never forgive-" England pulled the trigger, his rifle went off with a louder bang than was necessary, and the last thing Ireland saw was the look of hatred on England's face as tears rolled down his cheeks.

* * *

Ireland sat up quickly with a horrified gasp. His heart drummed roughly against his ribs. His body was covered in a cold sweat as it shook slightly from the nerves beneath his skin. His pupils dilated as he looked around his dark bedroom for comforting signs of reality. Slowly, Ireland started to calm down and his heart and nerves ceased their urgent reaction.

_It was just a dream,_ Ireland told himself, _It was only a dream._

Many years have passed since Ireland gained his independence from the United Kingdom. He was victorious but had to face other hardships through the years. His twin brother was against the idea of splitting away from the United Kingdom. When the war was over, they had a huge fight. This resulted in them being permanently split up on the island and named as different Irelands. No longer were they refered to as North and South. The elder twin became the Republic of Ireland (sometimes he was known as the Irish Free State) while the younger was given the name Northern Ireland. Since he was no longer a part of the United Kingdom, Ireland had his human name changed from Seamus Kirkland to Seamus O'Conner.

Having Ireland's name changed and putting a border between him and Northern Ireland weren't the only things to come out of their argument. The people of their countries fought against one another. It was mainly about religion but it escalated to horrible violence where the police had to be involved. For years, the two fought until they finally stopped talking to each other. At first they avoided each other with the exception of world meetings or other conferences. Then they refused to speak to one another when they came into contact. Being familiar with having the same schedule as the other, they tried doing certain things at different times. For instance, Northern Ireland would farm his land during the mornings while Ireland farmed during the afternoons.

Ireland sat up in bed and stared at his hands. Ever since the day he officially became the Republic of Ireland, he's had nightmares of the war. It always starts when he's wounded and waiting to get to a safer area and ends with England shooting him in the head. No matter how many times he convinces himself it was a dream, he can never forget the way England looked when he shot him. He can never forget the way England looked that night when he offered a third and final option. The option that led to the end of Ireland's war for independence.

* * *

"Don't deny it! It's too late to forgive you now! Nothing you do will make me want to come back! Even if you apologize for the next 100 years, I will never forgive-"

"Shut up!" England stomped on Ireland's injured foot to quiet him. The red-head winced in pain and raised his leg off the ground to take the pressure off it. A small whimper slipped out through his teeth that were clenched to his bottom lip.

England stared at him hard, his gun still pressed to Ireland's chest. Both nations were panting roughly as the battle raged behind them. The humid air did not provide much comfort.

With a quick movement of his hand, the British nation removed his rifle from his enemy's chest. The man before him let out a short gasp as the weapon was lowered.

"Like I said: there is a third option when I say there is. Now here it is." England extended his arm toward Ireland, his hand in the position of making an agreement. The Irishman stared at it for a moment, not understanding the gesture.

"What are you doing, England?"

"I'm calling for a truce."

"A truce?"

"We'll both agree to your independence, this war will be over, and we'll settle everything else at another time. Agree?" Ireland stood there and stared at his brother's gloved hand for a minute before weakly grabbing it. They both gripped the other's hand in a firm shake.

"I agree." With the last bit of Ireland's strength, he let his arm and body fall to the ground. Before he passed out, he looked up at England's face, tears beginning to travel down the blond's cheeks. Though he wore a look of hatred as he gazed down at Ireland's body, his eyes showed his true emotions.

"Enjoy your independence, Republic of Ireland," England sneered before disappearing behind the tree.

Ireland closed his eyes and rested his head on his military cap. He was so tired. Tired of this war. Tired of fighting with his brothers. Tired of the pain of being slowly ripped away from North. Tired of the throbbing pain in his side and leg. He just wanted to fall asleep. Sleep off the nightmare he was living and go to a place where this wasn't happening. Oh, how he's been wishing this for almost three years now.


	2. The Meeting

Ireland went downstairs slowly, still tired from his nightmare. He couldn't go back to sleep after that. Each time he had the dream he could never get back to sleep. He'd toss and turn, count sheep, stare at the ceiling, anything but actually sleep. So, three hours later, Ireland was going downstairs to make breakfast before beginning his day. His usual day would consist of him spending the morning talking to his friends, going back home to tend to his crops, then going inside to get ready for dinner, bed, or to go out with his friends for drinks. Today was a little different, though. That morning he had a meeting with England. It wasn't over anything too important but Ireland still didn't want to be near him.

After Ireland gained his independence, he and England weren't on very good terms. Just like with Northern Ireland, the two would fight and argue whenever they were near each other. Eventually, they also started avoiding each other. They've learned to behave when they're at meetings but sometimes one of them slips up and they start arguing.

Ireland yawned as he finished his bread and coffee. He wasn't allowed to drink coffee when he was still a part of the United Kingdom. England always claimed that tea was better so Ireland didn't drink it as much. Now he can't get enough of the stuff, especially during sleepy mornings. Besides, it was going to be a long day for him.

After cleaning up the dishes and putting them away, Ireland went upstairs to get ready for his meeting. Though the red-head was rarely ever seen in dressy clothing, he still owned a few good suits. His youngest brother made them all wear dressy clothes on a daily basis. Ireland still owned his old clothes but decided to wear them on certain occasions. He also didn't feel very comfortable in them unlike his brothers.

His deep green suit on, his hair brushed into semi-decency, and a splash of cold water to wake him up, Ireland was ready for the meeting. At least physically. He didn't want to go. He'd rather be doing something else much more productive but it wouldn't be too bad. The meeting would be about an hour or two, their bosses would chit-chat a bit, and then Ireland would go home to get out of the stuffy suit. It wouldn't be too bad at all.

There was a knock at the door, confusing Ireland. He wasn't expecting anybody. He walked back down to his living room and opened the door.

"Bonjour, Ireland! Comment allez-vous?" (T: Hello, Ireland! How are you doing?)

"France, it's too early to be speaking French to me." His best friend laughed as Ireland gave him an annoyed look.

"No need to be angry, mon ami!" (T: my friend)

"I'm not angry," Ireland groaned out in a very unconvincing tone. That's when France stopped laughing to get a look at the Irish nation. There were circles under his eyes, his dark green eyes looked tired, and he looked like he hadn't had a good night's sleep. Again.

"Ireland, you haven't slept at all last night, haven't you."

"No," the red-head yawned to prove his point, "It's nothing to worry about."

"Was it that dream again?" When Ireland started having the dreams, he confided in France about them. His advice was to get some help but Ireland always said he'd deal with it himself and leave it at that. The truth was that he didn't have enough money to see someone. He was still in a recession and things weren't looking up right now.

"Yes. I told you to stop worrying about it. They're just dreams."

"They may just be dreams but look what they're doing to you. You can't keep waking up at odd hours and not being able to go back to sleep. It's not good on your mind or your body."

"I know. I'll figure something out soon, though. Right now I have to go the United Kingdom for a meeting, so I'll see you later." Just like the Soviet Union, the United Kingdom is a house that consists of England, Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland. They all live in London but Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland also have houses in their capitals. Depending on how annoyed they are with each other or what other weird circumstances go on, they'll go to their separate houses instead of staying in the United Kingdom. This is not only the house they all stay at as one unity, it's also England's house. Since he represents the United Kingdom and England, it's his permanent home.

"How awful. You have to see Eyebrows so early in the morning. Well, good luck to you."

"Thanks. I'm going to need it." Ireland left his house and met up with his boss before going to England's house. His boss wasn't too keen on Ireland's "literal island-hopping" travel, so they had to take a ferry across the St. George Channel to Wales' dock. This made them a little late to the meeting but, thankfully, nothing was said.

Their little meeting went on for about an hour. The two nations refrained from getting into any arguments and they stayed on topic instead of stray onto something that would make the other upset. It was going fairly well. But they were only halfway through the meeting. There was still potential that something could happen. All it took was for their bosses to let their guards down and exit the room together after calling for a break.

England was sorting his paperwork for the next part of the meeting while Ireland took off his glasses to rub his eyes. The Irishman was still very tired and the meeting was awfully boring. It almost put him to sleep a few times.

"Tired?" Ireland looked up to see England still organizing his papers. He was not in the mood to argue this morning.

"Maybe. Why is it any of your concern?"

"Just asking. I mean, those dark shadows under your eyes aren't saying anything." Ireland narrowed his eyes at the Brit. _What is that boy playing?_

"Really, England, why do you care?"

"If you need to rest after the meeting, there's a nice room upstairs that use to be yours." And that's what set off Ireland. As if he were a stray dog being tempted by food, England was trying to tempt him into coming back to the United Kingdom. It wasn't the first time he's done this. All of his brothers have tried to make him come back, eventually giving up because of Ireland's persistance and strong will. England would never give up. Not even at a moment like this was he going to stop trying to make Ireland return.

Ireland rose from his seat quickly and slammed his hands on the table. This made England look up to see his older brother's angered face.

"You little twat! How long are you going to keep doing this before you realize I am never coming back?!" It was England's turn to stand up and put his hands on the table. He leaned in a little to show Ireland his usual mad expression.

"When will _you_ realize that you're not cut out to be by yourself?!"

"Excuse me? Northern Ireland and I were independent before you were even discovered! Before you became the British Empire or the United Kingdom, we were independent! So, how am _I_ not cut out for this?!"

"Really now? Take a look at yourself! Your economy has failed since you left us, you work all day in vain to get out of your recession, and you always look tired! You weren't like this before you were with us!"

"I wasn't like this because Northern Ireland was helping me. I have all this land to do myself and no one helps me! That is why things aren't as good as they use to be!"

"Well, maybe if you agreed to a few things, I can make things work for you!"

"I told you a thousand times already: I am _not_ abiding by any of your rules anymore, so forget it!"

"Things will be so much easier for you if you just come back-"

"No!"

"Do it!"

"No!"

"Just do it so that you're not suffering anymore!"

"I suffer more being in your presence than I do at home!"

"We can make it work, just come home!"

"Why do you want me to come back so badly?!"

"You really want to know why?!"

"Yeah! Tell me so that I know why you're so bloody desperate to take me back!"

"So, you honestly want to know?"

"Yes!"

"Fine then. Here's why!" England grabs the front of Ireland's shirt, pulls him closer to him, and kisses him on the lips. Without warning he kisses the Irishman right on the lips. Ireland gasps at the sudden action, not knowing how to react in this situation. England keeps their lips pressed together in a warm kiss, his hands still fisted in Ireland's shirt. They stay like this for about a minute or so, the Irishman stunned to the point where he can't move and the Briton silently enjoying himself.

The sound of the door opening made England pull away and slowly sit back down. Ireland, still stunned, couldn't help but stare down at his little brother. His youngest brother had just kissed him. On the lips. Not on the cheeks like a family member but on the lips. Had their bosses not interfered England may have done more. Thank God countries had leaders.

Slowly, Ireland sat down and attempted to pretend the kiss didn't happen. He was doing well for the most part. England, on the other hand, was acting normal as if he'd done the most natural thing in the world.

"Are you two doing all right?" England's prime minister asked the two nations.

"We heard screaming and thought you were arguing again," Ireland's boss included. Though the nations didn't get along, their bosses were okay with each other. One thing they had in common was worrying if the brothers would start fighting. It was the usual fear they had when getting together like this.

"Oh, we were debating," England answered. He gave Ireland a look that said 'Don't you dare tell them what just happened.' Ireland continued giving off his tired look as a sign that he wasn't in the mood to talk about the kiss either. This could all be explained another time.

"Yeah," Ireland went along with the lie, "We were debating over our trade routes."

"Nothing to worry about now," England continued, "We've already settled everything." Their bosses looked at each other in relief. At least they weren't arguing was all they were concerned with.

"All right, let's continue this meeting," Ireland's boss declared as he sat down next to his country.

The meeting dragged on just as slowly as the first half. If it were a world conference where everyone would be caught up in so many different discussions, Ireland would be humming along to one of his favourite songs. Since it was just the four of them, that wasn't going to happen. It was such a boring hour.

When it finally ended, Ireland and his boss left without exchanging any more words with England or his prime minister. Their leaders believed it would be best to do their business and then leave afterwards. Ireland would've pulled England aside and asked what the hell was going on, but their bosses would've gotten concerned or suspicious.

By the time Ireland and his boss returned to the ferry, it started raining. They both took shelter under their umbrellas they brought with them. Ireland's boss held a firm grip on his handle while Ireland lazily rested his umbrella on his right shoulder. He was too lost in thought to notice the rain pelting on his suit. England's bold kiss kept coming back to his head. He wanted to know why he did that. What was the meaning for it? They were arguing over Ireland leaving the United Kingdom and England basically showed him why he wanted him back.

_Does he see me as more than his brother? If so, did he just realize this or has he known for a while? As for a while, how long? God, England. You're so hard to figure out at times._

"...mus?" Ireland looked over at his boss as his human name was said. He hadn't realized how caught up in his thoughts he was. He'd been so busy thinking about England's behaviour that he zoned out.

"What was that?" the Irishman asked.

"I said 'rain today, rain tomorrow. Isn't that one of the greatest things about Ireland, Seamus?' Are you okay?" Ireland looked over at Wales' dock disappearing behind them. The rain blocked his view from the island nation like a curtain. Beyond his eldest brother's home, his youngest would probably be sitting on his couch, drinking tea. Maybe he would have a conversation with his magical friends too. Nothing else to really do on a dreary day like this.

"Yeah. I'm fine." Ireland answered. He had to speak to England about this as soon as possible. Even if he was going to deny it. Even if he kissed him again. He was going to get answers.


	3. Painful Memories

As soon as Ireland returned home, he immediately put his work clothes on and went outside to farm. It was still morning so Northern Ireland would still be outside tending to his own crops. The older nation didn't care. He needed a distraction from his encounter at the meeting. He needed to get his mind off what happened.

Ireland spent most of his day working and ended up finishing his job early. In need of a better distraction, he started cleaning around the house. Thankfully, there was much to be done. It was around early evening when he confirmed that his house was spotless. He even took the time to organize his potatoes according to size and texture. Getting a little desperate, he walked over to France's house to ask if they could go drinking. Though the Frenchman said yes and they drank over four bottles of wine together, Ireland was still not distracted enough. His mind still drifted to England kissing him at their meeting.

Eventually, Ireland realized that it wasn't any good to try and erase the image from his mind. He decided, with France now flirting with him instead of the women in the bar, that he should leave. He talked France into paying for them and left with his best friend hanging off his shoulder.

"Do you want to come back to my house with me, mon cher?" France whispered into Ireland's ear. The red-head sighed. This wasn't the first time he's experienced France getting drunk. It wouldn't be the last time either.

"No, Francis. You're drunk."

"Are you sure? We could have more wine." France reached his hand down to grab Ireland's butt. Ireland shrieked at the sudden action as France added, "And some fun." Ireland swat his hand away and looked around frantically for the Frenchman's street.

"Stop messing around, Francis! Look, we're almost to your house. If you can just go for another-"

"Oh, come on Seamus! Why won't you give in to my charms?"

"I'm your best friend, you arse!"

"That doesn't mean we can't do anything!"

"Yes it does! I'm not going to be your fuck buddy!"

"Then go out with me!"

"What part of 'no' do you not understand?"

"But love has no boundaries!" Ireland stopped to stare up at France.

"What?"

"Have you never heard the phrase 'love has no boundaries?'"

"No, that's not it. I just have a few things on my mind right now."

"Care to share?" France was Ireland's best friend but he wasn't about to say what has been weighing on his thoughts all day. There was no way France would've been able to understand his situation.

"Maybe another time." The Irishman looked up to see France's house, it's impressive structure and size almost making the man envious. "Hey, we're here. Do you need help getting to your room?"

"Non, I'll be fine." To further convince Ireland, France tripped over the entryway in his door and fell flat on his face. The red-head sighed again and helped his best friend get to his bedroom. Thankfully, France didn't have enough strength to try anything on Ireland. He laid there and almost instantly fell asleep. This brought back an old memory Ireland had when he was a young nation. England was injured during another fight with France. The young Frenchman ran off to boast about his victory while Ireland stayed with England to tend to his wounds.

* * *

"What's with you two?" Ireland asked as he dabbed at a shallow cut on England's knee. The blond winced a little but stayed silent. "Why do you guys have to fight all the time?"

"Hey, half of the time, it's France's fault!"

"And the other half, you start the fights." England pouted before turning his head the other way. Ireland sighed, bandaging his little brother's hands.

"Deartháir Beag, I'm only saying this to show you that both of you are at fault."

"But he's always causing things, South! He's always doing something to upset me!"

"Then you should learn to control your anger."

"How's that going to help? He'll still pester me!"

"That's the thing about being a nation, Deartháir Beag. Other countries, throughout your whole existence, will bother you and pick fights with you."

"They just take advantage of me because I'm still young."

"And you will grow with time." Ireland wiped off some dirt from England's cheek. "Just think. One day, you'll be a strong nation. Then no one will mess with you, Deartháir Beag."

"Do you really think that, South?"

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't believe in you." England suddenly leaned forward and hugged Ireland, burying his face in his chest.

"Deartháir Beag? Are you okay?"

"Why are you the only nice brother I have?" Ireland was quiet for a moment. He wasn't going to say 'oh, that's not true, your brothers love you.' He knew their brothers picked on England, sometimes a little harshly. He couldn't help but defend England even if he was the one who caused the problem to occur in the first place.

Ireland pet England's head and laid him down on his bed. He could see tears welling up in his little brother's eyes. The young Brit was too stubborn to let them fall, even around Ireland.

"It'll get better, Deartháir Beag. Just wait and see." He ruffled England's hair as the young nation relaxed. "Now, rest up, Deartháir Beag. You need your strength for tomorrow."

"Yeah. The next time I see France, I'll show him. I'm going to beat the shit-"

"Language, England."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah. You need to stop listening to Big Brother Scotland."

"South!" Ireland chuckled as England whined.

"Go to sleep, Deartháir Beag. I'll be back later to fix dinner." The young Briton obeyed and drifted off to sleep.

Ireland always loved to see England sleep. He was really calm and much more manageable. The slow rising and fallings of his chest and soft, shallow breaths were soothing to Ireland. He chuckled quietly before turning to leave.

_Why can't Deartháir Beag always be this cute?_

* * *

Ireland turned away from France, the memory becoming too unbearable for him to look at the man any longer. His face twisted into a mixture of fake happiness and heart breaking sadness. He made such an expression until he walked away from France's house. It was then that he couldn't control his true emotions from showing. It was then that the first tear slipped out of his eye and down his cheek. When he found himself at France's port, it took all the control he had not to break down.

Ireland stopped at the docks, not ready to jump to England's country just yet. The ferries have either already left or were shutting down for the night. It was late. A little after midnight but still pretty late. Ireland will have to jump or swim across the English Channel if he wanted to go home. He didn't want to go back to France's house and sleep on his couch. Who knows what that man would do if he saw the Irishman asleep on his couch the next morning?

Ireland removed his glasses, placed his hand over his eyes, and let the tears soak his palm. He let out quiet whimpers as he wept into his hand. That memory, any good memory he had of England, made him tear up a little. They were so young, so naïve. They were too little to understand what being a country was really about. They didn't know that, just because they were linked as brothers, they'd drift apart from each other. Ireland didn't realize that his innocent little brother would grow power hungry, and go so far as to unite all his brothers under his control. But, England also didn't know that Ireland would become tired of living under his rule and fight to be free from him. That didn't mean neither of them weren't affected by the outcome.

Ireland continued to cry until a French bystander walked up to him and asked if he was all right. Not feeling up to speaking with someone in French, he told the bystander that he couldn't speak the language so well but that he was okay. The bystander left Ireland to himself as he wiped his face from all the sobbing. He made sure no one was watching so that he could hop over to England's port. Walking on his little brother's land brought back too many memories that caused him tear up again. He refused to cry here. Just in case England or his friends saw him, he doesn't want to give England an opportunity to see him weak. Again.

Crossing over to his port, he made it home without any other distractions or complications. He had another long day tomorrow and needed all the sleep he could get. Even if he was going to be awakened by the nightmares again, a few hours of sleep would be better than no sleep at all. Ireland washed his face, changed into his pajamas, and climbed into bed. He set his glasses on the night stand before switching off the lamp and getting comfortable in his bed. That kiss from England still lingered in his mind as well as what the two island nations use to be before everything happened. Before England formed the United Kingdom and forced Ireland and his twin to join them. Before England became obsessed with power and control. Before they both had to grow up and lose that childish innocence. Those were the days.


	4. Phone Call

Sad ending. Thankfully, this chapter isn't too depressing. A tad bit humorous but not very upseting. There's also a nice little surprise at the end.

Enjoy everyone!

* * *

A week had already passed since Ireland and England's meeting. Ireland couldn't bring himself to call his little brother and discuss what happened. He didn't feel that the incident should be spoken over the phone. Even coming into contact with England felt awkward. Ireland wasn't sure how he was going to begin the conversation or if he should even beat around the bush for a moment.

Ireland was still considering how to bring up the incident to his leprechauns as he was farming one afternoon. Sometimes when he wasn't sure about something, he consulted his small friends. Though leprechauns tend to be a little mischievous to people (including farmers), they were wise creatures.

"What do you guys think I should do?" Ireland asked them.

"I think you should talk to him," an elder leprechaun with a greying beard said. He was leaning against the Irishman's leg while smoking on his pipe.

"Are you sure? I mean, what if he denies it?"

"You can get him to tell the truth," a female leprechaun with curly red hair replied, "You've done it before."

"Yeah, but what if he does it again?"

"Then ask why he's doing it," a male brunette leprechaun added in, "I mean, there's a reason why he kissed you."

"I wish I knew why. Do you think he's always felt that way towards me?"

"Trust me lad," the elder leprechaun said in a knowing voice, "All your questions will be answered in due time."

"I guess you're right, Oran. Maybe I should just talk to him."

"Who are you talking to?" Ireland looked behind him quickly to see France staring at him weirdly.

_Oh shit, not this again._ France, like most nations, not only couldn't see the creatures Ireland and his brothers could, he thought Ireland was weird for seeing them. He too believed Ireland had imaginary friends and occasionally caught the red-head talking to himself.

"It's France! Run!" The leprechauns scattered and ran off into the fields towards the woods. It was now just Ireland and France.

"My... friends." Ireland always felt awkward trying to explain everything to France.

"Your 'friends?'" France looked around Ireland to find nothing but plants and vegetables. "Where are they?"

"Going home."

"Really? Why do they always 'disappear' when I arrive?"

"Because leprechauns don't want to be caught by humans in fear that they'll have to give up their gold."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes! What do you want? I'm busy."

"Don't be so mad. I was only joking."

"I'm not mad. Now tell me what you want."

"I just wanted to know if you're okay."

"Why do you need to ask that? My sleeping habits aren't that bad."

"Non, non. You've been very spacing lately. You're not very responsive when we talk. I just wanted to know if things have been all right."

"Things are fine, France. No worries."

"Are you sure? Did it have anything to do with that meeting with England?"

"No. Nothing happened."

"I didn't ask if anything happened." If only Ireland could hit himself in the head with his shovel. He really has been out of it.

"Well, nothing happened either. I just said that because I'm sure you would've asked."

"Okay, okay. Calm down. Maybe you should cut today's job short and get some rest. You need to relax a little more."

"France, I'm not sure how you farm but I can't stop until everything's done. I can't leave a single crop unwatered, picked, fertilized, or anything."

"Hey, I told you to not speak of that." Ireland knew that France was a bit embarrassed about other nations finding out that he farms. His friend, wanting to be the country of ultimate beauty, didn't want others to look at him like the Irish nation, Switzerland in the Depression, or Ukraine. Although, it was fun to see him get agitated from mentioning his secret hobby.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm just saying that I can't cut this job short or take a day off."

"I often wonder what it would be like if you didn't have to farm as much."  
"I'd be bored out of my mind with nothing to do." The two nations chuckled at the small joke. France pat Ireland on the head through his hat with a smile.

"Get well, mon ami. Don't work yourself too hard."

"I can't make any promises but I'll try." The Irish nation gave his best friend a small, tired smile. The Frenchman left, still worried for his friend's well-being. Ireland went back to work as the first few drops of rain began to fall.

* * *

Ireland returned to his house an hour after it started to get dark. The rain was merciless once again and wouldn't give Ireland the chance to finish up his crops properly. He had to wrap up everything a lot slower than he preferred. At least it was done for the day.

Peeling off his rain jacket, hat, gloves, and boots, Ireland went upstairs to take a bath. The one thing he looked forward to after a long afternoon of farming was a nice warm bath. That was his only moment of relaxation besides going out for drinks and sleeping. The latter was becoming less enjoyable as the months wore on but it was still refreshing for his body.

The red-head drew some water and waited for it to fill the tub. Looking in the mirror, he was surprised he never saw his appearance so closely. The shadows under his eyes weren't very appealing. He wasn't sure how he failed to see them. His face drained of any color, making his freckles and eyebrows very noticeable. He was a little skinnier than the last time he really saw himself in a mirror. How long was that? A month ago? Two months ago? Maybe it was longer.

The Irish nation stripped off his work clothes and sat in the warm water. His cheeks reddened at the warmth of the bath and the steam rising from the waters. He could spend eternity sitting there but there was another reason he was in the tub. He scrubbed off the dirt and soil from the day's work, turning the clear water into a light beige color. Ireland raised his right foot to lather up whatever grime collected on his feet that the water couldn't dissolve. He paused at the pale, white, almost unnoticeable scar above his ankle. The spot where England's bullet almost shattered Ireland's ankle bone. He scrubbed at it while looking away as if the very sight of it was repulsive.

Ireland looked down at the second memorable scar he received from his little brother. The small, equally pale marking was just as bad as the one on his leg. England never regretted that one. He was sorry for almost breaking Ireland's leg but not the scar he made as they were deciding on Ireland's future as a country.

This is what confused Ireland the most. How could England put scars on his older brother but do something to him in an act of love? At this point, Ireland wasn't sure if his little brother could feel such an emotion. All he's ever seen after leaving the United Kingdom was England's cruelty. He's yet to see his brother actually be happy except on rare occasions when he sees him talking to his friends. Ireland will never admit it but he wishes to see England smile again. At him, not his magical friends.

The Irishman got out of the tub and dried himself off to the sound of the tub draining the dirty water. Putting on some pajamas, since he wasn't going out tonight, he walked downstairs to make himself some dinner. It wasn't until he looked over at his phone in the living room that he noticed there was a message waiting for him. He continued cooking until he found a chance to walk away from his food. He then walked into the living room, picked up the receiver, and pressed the messages button.

_"You have one new voicemail message."_ The beep sounded through Ireland's right ear and all he heard for a moment was silence and shallow breathing. _This better not be some stupid prank call._

_"Ireland, this is your brother, England."_ The red-head froze and almost dropped the receiver. Why was he calling? There's no way he could've known that the incident with the kiss was plaguing Ireland's mind.

_"I'm calling because I haven't heard from you since our last meeting. Well, that's not surprising but I was a little concerned. I was wondering if you'd like to come over to my house this Saturday. For tea maybe? You don't have to if you don't want to. I'll understand if you don't. Oh, bloody hell. I just needed to discuss something with you that happened at our last meeting. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to. I'm just leaving this message as an invitation if you do wish to discuss this further. Well, I'll stop bothering you and leave you to your regular business. Good night, Ireland."_

_Beep_

_"If you would like to hear this message again, press-"_ Ireland slammed the receiver back onto its charger and stared at it. He was actually calling to talk about what happened. He was even inviting him over to discuss it. Not only that but he too seemed flustered about it.

Ireland went back into the kitchen to continue making his dinner. The message replayed over and over in his head all night until he went to sleep. By then he had decided he would visit England to see what he had to say. He would finally get the answers he'd been wanting for almost a week now.


	5. Tea Time at England's

Tea time with the brother you refuse to live with who kissed you from out of nowhere at the spur of the moment? How could Ireland resist? More importantly, how will this little tea party go? It can only end in either happiness or tragedy. This time it's Ireland's choice.

Enjoy the chapter, guys! It took me _forever_ to finish this, you wouldn't even believe it! Also, if there are any cultural errors in this, forgive me. Try to enjoy it if there are a few mistakes in here.

* * *

Ireland sat on England's couch while his youngest brother finished making the tea. He felt strange being in England's house again. If he walked through the whole place, he could point out different memories he had in certain rooms. What was so weird about being there was that none of his other brothers were there. It would be best if Northern Ireland weren't there, seeing as the two were still on not such good terms. Scotland and Wales were a different story. Ireland's relations with them were still fairly good but it would be a bit awkward talking about his and England's incident at their last meeting. They would surely give England hell for doing such a thing.

"Tea's ready," England said dryly as he came in with the platter. The two island nations poured their cup, added whatever amount of milk or cream they desired, and sipped it. They sat there awkwardly while drinking their tea. England seemed to be very interested in the tray before him that had a few snacks on it for them. Ireland was looking around the living room as if it were his first visit to the place. This was obviously becoming uncomfortable for both of them.

"Biscuit?"

"Huh?" Ireland looked over at England who was looking away from the tray now.

"Do you want a biscuit?" Ireland stared at the tray with England's partially burnt pastries on it.

"Ugh, sure." Ireland slowly reached for the biscuit and nibbled on it. Ireland was one of the very few nations that could eat England's food. He wouldn't say it tasted bad but he could tell that other foods were better. Their brothers were the same way but they just said England's cooking was bad so that he'd be upset.

It soon became too awkward for Ireland to keep quiet. Obviously, it was going to take England awhile to start their 'discussion.' Ireland set his cup down, the clinking of the cup meeting the saucer catching England's attention. Ireland looked his little brother calmly in the eyes.

"England, I'm just going to be straight forward with you. Why exactly did you kiss me?"

The Briton looked the other way for a moment before letting out a sigh. A small blush began to creep up on his cheeks.

"For a long time, I've felt something towards you. It wasn't brotherly affection but something much stronger. I couldn't describe it at first but I think I can now. Ireland, I... really... like you." Ireland was a little surprised by this. He was thinking this may have been it but wasn't really sure.

"How long have you felt this way?"

"Since probably around my childhood. Maybe my early teens. I can't remember when exactly." His blush deepened after he finished his sentence. Ireland noticed this and started blushing lightly as well.

"How do you know it's... this and not something else?"

"I kind of asked a few fairies and they told me what this feeling is." Fairies can also give good advice if you're nice enough to them. Being one of England's most faithful friends, they would know what to tell him. The thought of lying to him wouldn't even cross their minds. But, Ireland suddenly considered, would it cross England's?

It wasn't like England ever lied to Ireland. He may have tricked him several times but he never actually lied. Still, the idea that he may be fooling around with him wasn't unlikely.

"Are you telling the truth?" Ireland asked a little too sternly than he intended.

"Wh-What?!"

"You heard me. Are you telling me the truth or not?"

"Why would I lie about this? Especially to you?" A light dusting of pink spread across Ireland's freckles after hearing this. Seeing his face and realizing what he just said, England's blush deepened into a full on red color.

"W-Wait! I didn't mean it like that! I was just trying to say that I would never lie to you about anything! You understand. R-Right...?"

England's reaction was all Ireland needed to know that his little brother wasn't up to something. When the Brit got worked up over something, it meant that he was worried about how to get his meaning across without making it sound suggestive or weird. Plus, he was adorable when he became flustered and unsure of his own words. At least, that's what Ireland thought.

"Just making sure, England. You don't need to get worked up." Ireland picked up his cup of tea and took a long sip from it. England chose that moment to voice out his curiosity.

"Why were you concerned about that?" Ireland did a spit take, splattering the whole tray with tea and saliva. He coughed a couple of times before asking, "What?"

"Why did you want to know if I was telling the truth or not?" Ireland couldn't come up with a lie or excuse for him. Even if England became his worst enemy, he was still his little brother. He couldn't lie to him to save his life.

"Well, ummmm... You know? I never really hated you, England." Ireland saw his little brother raise an eyebrow in curiosity, signaling him to continue. "I admit I despised being ruled under you but I never hated you specifically."

"Really...?"

"Yes. I still saw you as my little brother."

"Even now? After everything that happened?"

"Yes. Even now. Through our arguments, the War, even afterwards when we wouldn't even look at each other." At this, England gave Ireland a small smile but it fell to a frown after a moment. His little brother gave off a look of uncertainty and slight anxiety.

England stood up and walked around the coffee table to sit next to Ireland on the couch. He turned his body to where he was fully facing him, Ireland slowly doing the same. They stared into each other's eyes, the bright green orbs belonging to England growing more anxious by the second. Ireland could see this and wanted to know what was troubling the Briton.

"Is this as far as we'll go?" England asked, that worried look very evident on his face. It took Ireland a moment to understand what he was asking. He returned the sad look on his face.

"Everyone's going to find it unnatural. You know that."

"Why should that matter?!" the Englishman exclaimed from out of nowhere, "We're nations! It's not like we're actually blood related!"

"But there's still a relation between you and me that binds us as brothers. We may not be related by blood like humans but we _are_ related."

"It shouldn't matter as long as we're okay with it!"

"Not everyone will agree with this. Our brothers specifically."

"I don't care about them! Their opinion doesn't matter to me!"

"What about America? France? Your colonies?"

"Don't you see, Ireland?" England took his older brother's hands into his, a hopeful look in his eyes. "I'm not worried about them or anyone else knowing. I just want us to be happy. Together." He squeezed the Irishman's hands lightly while blushing at his words. England may be a gentleman but he wasn't easy with the whole romance thing like France.

Ireland blushed harder at what England had said. He would actually have the whole world know he liked Ireland more than a brother and not give it a second thought. He was either overwhelmed by these emotions or very foolish. Either way, Ireland couldn't help but firmly tighten his grip on England's hands. He leaned forward and kissed England on the forehead, the younger nation blushing a deep, dark red. Without pulling away, Ireland rested his chin on England's head and exhaled softly.

"You were always so cute when you were shy, England." The younger nation's face darkened into an impossible deeper shade of red. He snuggled into his older brother's chest, listening to the thumping of his heart. The rhythmic beat the Irishman's heart helped calm down England for his next question.

"So, how are we going to tell everybody?"

"We're not." England moved his head up so that Ireland could look at him. The man looked serious at his answer.

"You don't want to tell anyone? Not even France?"

"It's too soon. I'm not prepared for the possible consequences of this."

"Are you ashamed? Because we're brothers?"

"No. That's not the whole reason."

"Tell me. Why don't you want anyone to know?" Ireland was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out how to word his sentence. He put his hand over England's again and stroked the skin with his thumb.

"Those years we spent fighting and resenting each other, all of it ending in a truce for my independence. Won't everyone see all of that as a waste of time?" England leaned into Ireland's chest, his hand still held by his brother's.

"Do you think it was a waste of time?"

"No."

"Everyone will have their own reaction to this. But, we don't have to come out to anyone right away."

"You'd be okay with this?"

"Yeah. It's not like anyone really has to know right now. Eventually. But not at this very moment." Ireland released England's hand and brought his own up to the blond's head. He ran his fingers through the messy blond locks and rested his cheek on the top of his little brother's head.

"Thank you, England." The Briton blushed a little bit and snuggled more into the red-head's chest. The two nations sat like this until Ireland had to go back to his house.

It was around noon when Ireland returned home and got dressed in his work clothes. He was feeling a bit happier as he worked in his fields. When his leprechauns asked what lightened his spirits, he told them about his visit to England's house. Ireland thought that maybe it would be okay for them to know. Not many nations could see them and leprechauns tend to be very mischievous towards foreigners. They were a bit shocked at first but they accepted the relationship after Ireland explained what was going on. It was turning into a pretty nice day for the Irish nation.


	6. Dinner with Deartháir Beag

Ireland and England are finally back on better terms. The world may not know it yet, but they've finally found some peace with each other. Now, Ireland decides to invite England over for dinner. This results in a strange conversation about pet names and a flashback from Ireland's childhood with England.

By the way, I have never made Irish stew before, so I'm sorry if there's an error in this. Also, if England seems a little OOC, I was not intending to do that.

Enjoy everybody!

* * *

A week passed by since Ireland and England decided to begin a secret relationship. They still avoided each other in public and would refrain from visiting the other's house. It was a little difficult having this relationship with their brothers' homes around them. Thankfully, this was a time when the telephone had been well into existence. So, they would call each other whenever they had the chance.

It was almost noon when Ireland decided to call England. He spent most of his morning talking to France, neglecting to talk about his new relation with England. He wanted France to be the first nation to know. He thought he'd learn to understand it despite his detestment towards England.

The phone rang a few times before it was picked up. Although, it wasn't an English accent that greeted him. It was a thick Scottish one.

_"Hello?"_

"Scotland?"

_"Oh, hey Ireland. What's going on?"_

"Nothing much. Can I speak with England?"

_"Why do you want to talk to England?"_

"My boss wanted me to ask him something."

_"Why couldn't he just talk to England or his prime minister?"_

"He has his reasons."

_"Is it important? I could pass the information on."_

"Yeah right. You'd just pretend to forget and tell him much later."

_"Really? Would I do something like that?"_

"Can you not be an arse for five seconds?" There was a pause at the other end of the line. For a moment Ireland thought Scotland was considering this. Scotland purposely acted like an asshole around his brothers for his own reasons. Even though Ireland and his twin showed a lot of affection towards him growing up, the Scottish nation still picked on them and acted rude. Towards everyone except England, this was how Scotland showed them he cared. To England, he pretty much did this out of spite.

_"There,"_ Scotland said after a short moment, _"Five seconds of not being an arse. Happy?"_

"I guess."

_"Hey, get off the phone."_ England's voice was heard through the receiver. _"I have an important call to make."_

_"Go away, England. I'm talking to Ireland."_

_"I don't care. Get off the bloody phone!"_

_"I'm sure it can wait, you prick!"_

_"I'm sure your conversation can wait until a later time!"_ Scotland sighed in agitation before taking his attention back to the phone.

_"Look, Ireland, I'm going to have to call you back. The Queen of Bitching is about to jump down my throat over one phone call."_

"Okay, Scotland. I'll talk to you later. Slán!" (T: Goodbye!)

_"Slán!"_ Scotland hung up, leaving Ireland to hear the dial tone. He put it back on the charger in disappointment. He was hoping to talk to England at some point.

_Why does Big Brother have to be such an arse most of the time?_

The phone rang, drawing Ireland away from his thoughts. He picked it up and answered the call.

"Hello?"

_"Hey, it's me."_ This time it was England's voice on the other end. Ireland relaxed a little and smiled.

"I was trying to call you but Big Brother picked up the phone instead," Ireland explained.

_"I see. What did you want to talk to me about?"_

"I wanted to know if you'd like to come to my house for dinner."

_"You want to cook for me?"_

"Yeah. You use to cook for me all the time when we were younger."

_"Those were the days."_ England smiled in content at the memory.

"They were. Even though you were just starting off, I complimented your cooking while everyone else insulted it."

_"Do you really like my cooking or are you saying that to make me feel good?"_

"I like your cooking, England. Sure it could use a few touches to it, but I like it."

_"Thank you, Seamus. But, yes, I'll have dinner with you. When is it?"_

"Would tomorrow be okay?"

_"Of course. I'll see you then?"_

"Yes. Have a nice day, England."

_"You too, Seamus."_ They hung up, both nations feeling very happy after the phone call.

* * *

There was a knock at the door as Ireland was finishing preparing the stew that he was going to fix for him and England. He left the stew to simmer in the pot before going to the door to answer it. It was none other than his little brother England, dressed in his usual formal attire. They both kept a straight face in case someone saw them, Ireland inviting England in after a moment. Once inside and the door was closed, England turned around and leaned up to kiss Ireland on the lips. The elder brother kissed back before reluctantly pulling away.

Kissing England seemed a little awkward to Ireland at first. He had spent the majority of his life looking at the nation as his younger sibling, despite that he also had feelings for him. Although, he realized it wasn't so weird once their lips connected. It felt natural somehow.

"So, what have you prepared for us this evening?" England asked while sniffing the air. Ireland chuckled while leading England into the kitchen.

"I'm making us Irish stew."

"Your favourite?" England chuckled with an amused tone.

"One of my personal favourites. It should be a bit similar to beef stew."

"This isn't the first time I've eaten it, Seamus."

"True. But it has been awhile since you've last tasted it." Ireland sampled the dish before adding some more parsley. "So, how has your day been?"

"Oh, the usual. Paper work, Scotland's an arse, I talked to my friends, and tried to finish my embroidery."

"Ah, I see. My day was less exciting. Just talked to France most of the morning then came back here to work. Afterwards, I started preparing for our dinner."

"You really don't have much excitement in your life." Ireland couldn't help but laugh at this.

"Not true, dear brother. What we're doing right now is far from dull or boring."

The two went silent for a moment, Ireland working on the stew, England sitting at the table while resting his cheek on his hand. The blond sighed softly as he straightened in his seat.

"Seamus?"

"Yes, England?"

"Why do you still address me by my country name?" The Irishman glanced at the younger nation before returning to his cooking.

"I'm not sure what you wish to be called."

"What do you mean?"

"Before... all of that happened... I sometimes called you Arthur but mainly called you deartháir beag. So, I'm not sure what you'd rather be addressed as." 'Deartháir Beag' was Ireland's pet name for England. It started when they were little, sometime after England was accepted into their family. Accepted, meaning before the brothers started to realize that they really didn't like England.

* * *

Ireland was starting to realize how his brothers were treating England. He didn't approve of it but he knew that they wouldn't listen to him if he voiced his opinion. Scotland would most likely smart off about it or say England deserved it (he's been getting very mean towards the blond lately). Wales, his eldest brother, would try to reassure Ireland that what he's doing is okay, just proper discipline. Ireland's twin that represented the northern part of him never cared about what he said on this matter.

Ireland could tell his youngest brother was hurting. He was always withdrawn from them and talked to his magical friends more than anyone. When England wasn't arguing with his brothers, he just stood there and let their words sink in. He never showed them that he was sad but Ireland knew England was crying on the inside.

Ireland wandered upon England sitting under a tree with his back turned and talking to his friends again. He could hear his little brother complaining about how the others treat him.

"They always pick on me for the littlest things! Yet, they never act this way towards each other! It's as if I ruined their little sanctuary just by being here!" A few fairies tried to comfort him and reassure him that that's how siblings are. There was a faint, almost silent sniffle from England as he hung his head.

"Why do they do this to me? What have I ever done to deserve this?"

Ireland couldn't stand there and watch this any longer. Quietly, he walked up to England and put a hand on his shoulder. The boy turned around suddenly and gasped, his magical friends backing away for a moment. England roughly wiped at his face to get rid of the tears.

"What do you want, South?!" England shouted at his older brother. Ireland smiled down at him and held out a four-leaf clover he just picked. England stared down at it, not sure why the red-head was offering him the plant.

"Not everyone's against you, Deartháir Beag." England raised an eyebrow at him, taking the foreign words as an insult.

"What did you call me?"

"Deartháir Beag?"

"Yeah. What is that?" Ireland sat down next to England, his smile a little bigger.

"It means 'little brother.' Would you rather me call you England instead? Or maybe Arthur?" England looked away from the kind face, not use to this kind of attention.

"No, what you just said is fine. I was just wondering if it was an insult."

"I'm not going to make fun of you, England. It's unnecessary."

"Tell that to Scotland, Wales, and North. I'm sure they'll get it."

"Try not to mind them as much. Here." Ireland hands the clover to England again. He takes it this time, examining the small plant.

"Why are you giving me a clover?"

"It's so rare to find one with four leaves. They're a symbol of good luck at my house. You will always have good fortune if you keep those close by."

"Then you keep it. I don't care for superstition."

"I don't need it. I'm already a very lucky country."

"How so?"

"I have four great brothers. One that protects us, one that looks out for us, one that never leaves my side, and one..." Ireland looks at England as he raises a brow at him. "... that I can't help but to defend."

England blushed and turned his head the other way. He wasn't use to someone talking to him in such a kind way. So far, only England's friends were nice to him. Now one of his older brothers is showing affection to him. If he didn't know Ireland that well, he'd assume that the red-head was tricking him.

"Why aren't you like them?" England accidentally slipped out. He wasn't intending for Ireland to hear that.

"Well, Deartháir Beag, I don't feel the need to be mean to others, even if I do hate them."

"So, if I did something really bad, something you could never forgive me for, you'd still act nice towards me?"

"I wouldn't say I'd be nice. Maybe just neutral like Wales. But I don't think I'd hate you either."

"Really? You'd never hate me even if I did something unforgivable?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because..." Ireland ruffled England's messy hair while smiling down at him, "You're my deartháir beag and nothing you do can bring me to hate you."

* * *

"Deartháir Beag," England answered while blushing. This caused Ireland's face to flush as well as he looked back at the blond.

"You... want me to call you _that_?"

"... Yes... You don't think it's... weird... do you...?"

"No... It's just... I didn't think you'd still wanted me to call you that."

"Can you call me that when we're alone? Like you use to?" Ireland smiled to himself as he poured the stew into two bowls. He set one down where England was sitting and the other across the table where he would sit. Ireland cupped England's cheek, a smile still on his face.

"Of course. Anything for you, Deartháir Beag." Ireland gave him a peck on the lips before going to his seat.


	7. The Madness of Making Shepherd's Pie

England and Ireland decide to bake a pie. Ireland decides he wants to have a little fun with his younger brother. England doesn't like this idea. And while this is going on, someone hears them and gets the wrong idea. How does this crazy morning go for them?

This is really just a filler chapter but it was fun writing. I hope you guys enjoy this!

* * *

It was several days later that Ireland and England found themselves in Ireland's kitchen making shepherd's pie. The night they had dinner with each other they had gotten on the topic of desserts they enjoy. They decided at one point that they should make one of their favourite treats. That happened to be shepherd's pie. So, here they were days later in Ireland's kitchen.

"Deartháir Beag, can you mash the potatoes?"

"Of course." England walked over to the bowl and began mashing the potatoes Ireland had already cut out.

As Ireland was slicing up the beef, he glanced over at England concentrating on his job. The Irishman chuckled lightly to himself as he thought of what he was going to do. It's been awhile since he's had fun with his little brother.

Ireland stopped what he was doing and noisily put done his knife. This got England's attention long enough for him to look up from the potatoes to Ireland. The red-head gave him an amused look.

"Deartháir Beag, you're doing it wrong."

"What?" England looked at him with confusion, not sure what he was talking about.

"The potatoes. You're mashing them wrong."

"I was unaware that potatoes had to be mashed a certain way."

"Well, you've gotta get them very creamy for the pie. In order to do that, they must be mashed very quickly and very roughly. Here, I'll show you." Ireland walks up behind England, grabs his hand that was holding the potato masher, and grips the fingers that were holding onto the bowl. Ireland then begins to make England violently crush the potatoes in the bowl. Little bits of the vegetable started flying through the air as England yelled at his older brother to stop.

"Seamus! Quit it! This is not funny!"

"Come on, Deartháir Beag! You have to do everything your older brother tells you to!"

"This is unnecessary! Stop!"

* * *

Canada arrived at Ireland's house just before the first few drops of rain landed on the ground. It was around noon so the Irish nation should still be inside. He wasn't at France's house since that was where he came from. The man was probably about to go out to his fields to work.

The Canadian's reason for coming over was to exchange a few of Ireland's vegetables for his maple syrup. Ireland had always wanted to try Canada's syrup but was never able to. They both thought this little trade would help with this matter.

Canada knocked lightly on the door and waited. He didn't hear Ireland's cheery voice or any movement within the house. He knocked a little louder this time. There was still no answer from the Irishman.

_That's a little odd,_ the Canadian thought, _He shouldn't be in his fields yet._

Canada was about to walk around to see if Ireland was in his backyard when he heard shouting. He couldn't tell what was being said but it didn't sound very good. He could hear another voice yelling angrily back at the first voice.

Out of curiosity, Canada opened the door a little to see if it was a bad argument or not. The yelling seemed to be coming from the kitchen. This made Canada want to get closer to the swinging door of the kitchen. He wasn't sure why he wanted to listen in on the shouting but he felt really tempted to see what was going on.

As Canada stepped closer to the door, the voices became clearer for him to understand. He could tell that Ireland was yelling in a very amused voice. And, oddly, England was there with him, shouting back in a very annoyed tone.

_Hmmmmm, I guess it's another fight between those two._

"Will you stop this! You're going way too fast!"

"It's the only way for this to work!"

"That's not right! Look at this!"

"It looks like how I normally do it. Don't worry about it!"

"'Don't worry about it?!' Do you not see what you're doing?!"

"Well, of course not! You're in the way!"

"You didn't have to come up behind me and do this!"

"And why not?"

From out of nowhere, Canada heard England groan. A blush crept across his face as he listened to this conversation.

_What are they doing? They're not actually-_

"Ah! It's getting everywhere, Seamus!"

"Sorry!"

"You bet you're sorry! This stuff is getting all over me!"

"It's okay, Deartháir Beag! We'll clean up after we're finished!"

"No! Stop it right now!"

"But I'm enjoying myself!"

"Is this all for your benefit?!"

"Oh, come on, Deartháir Beag! You've gotta admit you're having fun, too!"

"I don't like having white stuff all over my face! Stop this!"

"Just a little..."

There was the sound of something being hit on the counter one final time before all noise ceased. At least for the moment.

"Ow, my arm hurts."

"You deserve it for what you just did."

"Don't be so cranky, Deartháir Beag. I was only trying to have fun."

"Well, this type of 'fun' is not to be done in the kitchen. I don't care what you're thinking."

"Okay, let me clean you up then."

Canada heard rummaging as he assumed Ireland was groping around for a wash rag.

"Oh boy. It did get everywhere. It even got in your hair."

"You didn't have to go crazy with it."

Canada's eyes couldn't grow any wider. He didn't want to hear any more of their 'conversation.' His exchange with Ireland could wait on another day. A day in which Canada will surely call before coming over.

Canada silently went out the front door and walked back to France's house. He wasn't sure how he was going to explain this to France or if he knew how. He just needed to erase the horrible images coming to his mind right now.

* * *

They crowded around the kitchen window, watching the whole scene. Many would assume that Ireland and England's creatures wouldn't get along just because their nation friends weren't on good terms. That wasn't true. They actually get along quite well and talk whenever they're not with England or Ireland.

For many years, they've had to see their nation friends fight and argue. It was great news for all of them to hear that the two were finally getting back on good terms. And to think it was all for their relationship to work. It was almost like a fairy tale.

"I hope this continues for a long time," one of England's fairies commented at the scene in the window. Ireland was wiping off the bits of mashed up potatoes from England's face. England still looked annoyed from Ireland fooling around. Ireland seemed very amused by his younger brother's expression.

"I'm sure it'll last," Ireland's elder leprechaun, Oran, replied, "Ireland's a good lad."

"They're so cute," the unicorn said dreamily as the two kissed each other. The creatures continued watching the nations finish their pie and enjoy themselves. They had to disperse once England declared his leave and gave Ireland a kiss goodbye. It was obvious to the nations' magical friends, though not to themselves, that the two were in love. All that their mythical friends could do was hope for the best and that they stay together for a very long time.


	8. Visiting the Sick

Oh, poor Canada. Scarred for life by a little misunderstanding. Today, England comes down with a little cold and is left at home alone in his bed. Thankfully, Ireland's there to keep him company. And so is a wandering eye. Two eyes that catch something quite interesting...

Enjoy this little chapter everybody!

* * *

England lays in bed, staring at his ceiling. He felt awful. He was warm in his cheeks and forehead, he couldn't breathe very well through his nose, he felt light-headed, and he was coughing throughout the day. He had somehow caught a cold and had to stay in bed for a few days. It started the day before when he woke up with a stuffed nose and a sore throat.

It was the middle of the afternoon. That's what England could tell from the window. It was a pretty miserable day as most would describe. It was very cloudy and rain would come and go as it pleased. It was still light enough to be day but it was growing steadily darker as the hour passed.

No one had visited England that day. That was both good and bad. It was good because England didn't feel like hearing America's obnoxious voice or listening to France's insults. He didn't forget about what happened the last time he got sick.

Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland decided to stay out of the house during the day. This meant England had to do everything himself despite having an illness. This may or may not have crossed his brothers' minds. Then again, they would've done this anyways.

_What great brothers I have,_ England thought as he looked at the alarm clock on his night stand. It read 5:31. Ireland would still be outside working in his fields.

England was hoping that Ireland would come around to visit. He knows Ireland has heard from one of his brothers about England's sudden illness. Though he and his twin don't get along too well, Ireland is still close to Scotland and Wales. There's no doubt that Scotland or Wales have already gloated to Ireland about England being sick.

_God, I feel like shit..._

He heard the front door open and footsteps going up the stairs. England couldn't hear more than one set of footsteps, so he assumed one of his brothers came home to retrieve something they forgot. The footsteps came closer to England's bedroom door. Now the blond was beginning to think it was France or some other nation coming to laugh about his current state. The footsteps stopped in front of the door before the sound of the knob turning could be heard. England cracked one of his eyes opened to see the door swing open to reveal one of the only nations with red hair.

"Ireland?"

"Hey, Deartháir Beag. I heard you came down with a cold."

"Yeah. I'm not sure how it happened, though." Ireland was still in his work clothes, rain freshly coating them. He pulled up a chair and sat next to England's bed before pulling off his gloves, jacket and hat.

"Sorry about the mess," Ireland apologized, looking behind him at the muddy footprints he left. England looked at the dirt on the floor with tired eyes.

"I'll clean it up later. That or someone's going to get tired of it and wipe it up." The Irishman placed his hand on England's face, cupping his cheek. The cold hand on England's warm face felt comforting to the Brit. He snuggled closer into the hand, letting out a contented sigh at the chilled feeling.

"You're so warm, Deartháir Beag."

"You're really cold. How long have you been out there?"

"For a few hours."

"You should watch out. You'll end up catching a cold one day."

"I know but my work has to be done."

"You work too hard."

"I'd rather work too hard than not hard enough." Ireland smiled down at his little brother as the blond stared back at him with a stern look.

"I'm serious. If you work yourself too hard, you're going to end up sick."

Ireland wouldn't argue with that statement. He's had days where he couldn't get out of bed due to working himself for too long. Thankfully, he's been able to take it easy and get things done at a better pace. He's also been having less nightmares and more regular sleeping patterns for the past month. This was a great change for Ireland. He didn't know forming a relationship with his youngest brother would improve his life.

Ireland ruffled his brother's blond locks and smiled.

"You don't need to worry, Deartháir Beag. Things are a lot better now."

"Really now?"

"Yes. Relax. You shouldn't worry about such things right now." Ireland leaned down to England to where their faces were mere inches away from each other. England's blush from being too warm deepened as he realized what the red-head was about to do. England held a hand up to Ireland's shoulder in a weak attempt to push him away.

"No," the Briton protested, "You'll get sick too."

Ireland removed England's hand from his shoulder, holding it firmly in his fingers.

"It's okay, Deartháir Beag. Even if I do get sick, it'll be okay."

England gave up, too tired to argue against his brother. Ireland closed the gap between them with a kiss. It was very warm but still comforting for England. He started feeling light-headed again but not from the sickness.

Ireland pressed harder into the kiss, his brother being forced slightly into his Union Jack pillow. England was so overwhelmed by this he hardly noticed the tongue licking at his bottom lip. Against his better judgement and the possibility of infecting his older brother, England allowed Ireland entrance into his mouth.

The Irishman's tongue slipped in, exploring the younger nation's mouth. He could taste the scones England had for breakfast that morning and the tea he regularly consumed. It was a strange yet delicious taste to the Irish nation.

Their tongues intertwined in a wet, French styled kiss. Both Ireland and England were feeling warm inside, a blush evident on their cheeks. It was when England let out a small moan that Ireland pulled away. A trail of saliva connected them for a moment before breaking away. England laid there panting with a deep blush across his face. Ireland was still leaning above him with a red face and short breaths similar to his little brother's.

Ireland sat up straight and tucked England into bed. He was still blushing hard when he said, "Ummm, let's... end there... for now..." England stared up at him a bit perplexed.

"For... now?"

"Until you're better is what I meant." Both of their faces turned scarlet once the words sunk in.

"I-I mean... Ugh... Don't think I'm a pervert or something... I wasn't trying to say-"

"I know what you meant, Seamus. It's... fine with me..." England turned his head the other way as his whole face ignited in a red blush. Ireland's cheeks couldn't be a deeper shade of maroon.

Behind the door, France watched them in both amazement and shock. He thought Ireland was acting weird that day he came home from that meeting with England.

_So that's what's going on between them. I wish I could say I disapprove but they do seem very happy with each other. And they looked pretty hot just then._

A smirk spread across his face as he imagined them doing way more than what he just witnessed. He had to stop himself before the thoughts began to affect him physically.

_So this is why Mathieu came home all shook up. I wonder what he saw..._

An idea came to France as he watched them become flustered with red faces. He shouldn't keep this to himself. It's not right to hide such a forbidden romance. Not in France's book at least. But it'd be no good if he told everyone. No. It's best for the actual couple to come out and declare their relationship. But they're obviously not going to do that. Not if France has something to say about it. And oh does he have a way with words.

France swung the bedroom door wide open and made his presence known by laughing loudly.

"Ah! What a glorious sight! Seeing the late great British Empire weakened by a cold!"

"Shut up, you bloody frog," England replied weakly.

"Oh, hello, France."

At this point, Ireland had already pulled completely away from England and was just sitting in the chair with his hands in his lap. England continued to lay in his bed with flushed cheeks. At least he can pull that off to being sick. France stared at them with his usual mocking grin, his plan still forming in his brain.

_They're going to pretend as if that didn't happen? Oh well, they won't be able to deny anything once I set my plan into action. Now, let's see if a few friends would like to get involved._

"Well, I'll leave you two alone." Ireland rose from his chair and put his jacket back on. It was damp but it would do until he got back home.

"You're going so soon, Seamus?" France asked, chuckling to himself.

"I've been here for a while to keep him company. Now you can stay here until our brothers come home if you'd like." France caught the fake cheery tone in Ireland's voice. The man was annoyed that the Frenchman interrupted them.

"Stay here? All alone with Eyebrows until his dear brothers come home?"

"This isn't an opportunity, France. Don't take advantage of him just because he's sick."

"Oh, non. I just can't believe you're subjecting me to such torture."

"It shouldn't be too bad. Our brothers should be home in another hour or so."

"A lot can happen in an hour."

"And I hope you don't do a lot of things in an hour. Now, I have to go. Promise me you won't kill each other?"

"I can't make any promises concerning Eyebrows."

"As if you can make any promises at all," England muttered.

"What was that?" France turned to England, giving him an annoyed look.

"I'm leaving. England, don't infect France again and France, don't do anything to England that'll give him an excuse to kill you later."

"I'll do my best," France faked an innocent tone as he winked at Ireland. The red-head blushed a little before turning and walking out the door.

France watched his friend leave then looked back at England with a smile on his face. The Englishman stared back at him wearily, still weak from the illness and Ireland's kiss.

"What are you smirking about, Frog?" England asked, the menace in his tone strained.

"Oh, nothing. Just thinking."

"Don't bother telling me. I don't want to know what's on that disgusting mind of yours."

"You don't need to worry. I won't tell you." _But I will make you tell._


	9. Plan A: Make Ireland Confess

France catches them in the act. This could turn out good or bad. Let's see how this turns out and who he plans to involve.

Sorry it took me forever to get this up. I am easily distracted and I kept adding a few sentences here and there whenever I pulled the document up. But, it's finally finished so there's no more waiting... for now.

If the translations are wrong, please forgive me. Enjoy the chapter guys!

* * *

After France finished telling Spain and Prussia what happened when he went to England's house, the two looked at him in surprise.

"No way!" Prussia exclaimed as he laughed and slammed down his beer mug, "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," France answered him, a sly grin on his face, "They were making out on his bed when I arrived."

"Holy shit, I can't believe this!"

"I'm not asking you to believe me. I just need your assistance for one little task. Then, you and everyone else will figure out their secret."

"I didn't think Ireland would do such a thing," Spain said incredulously.

"I know," Prussia chided in, "Kissing and shit with his own brother? The awesome me couldn't even _think_ about doing that to West!"

"No, I mean the making out thing. I thought Ireland was so innocent." Prussia smacked Spain on the back of the head.

"You idiot! That's beside the point!"

"I was just saying-"

"Will you listen to my request now?" France interrupted. Spain and Prussia settled down and looked at France in attentiveness. The Frenchman sipped his wine before setting the glass down.

"My plan is to make them tell the world about their secret relation."

"And how the hell are you going to do that?" Prussia asked as he raised his mug to his lips.

"Yeah," Spain replied, "It doesn't sound like it'll be easy, seeing as they don't want anyone to know."

"That's why you're both here," France said as if it were obvious, "You're going to help me."

Prussia spit out his beer and Spain let out a surprised "What?!" as France told them this. The blond smiled at them from across the table and sipped his wine. Prussia slammed down his mug so hard, everyone in the bar looked at them.

"You are joking!" Prussia yelled in a furious tone.

"Why us?" Spain asked in a more worried voice.

"Because I'm not giving you the task to deal with Eyebrows. You two will try to get Ireland to tell while I try to make England talk."

"But how are we going to get Ireland to say anything?" Spain seemed a little more relaxed but there was still evidence of concern in his voice, "Ireland's good at hiding things."

"Take him out for drinks. He's more comfortable when he drinks with his friends."

"And if he doesn't spill?" Prussia countered, "What do you expect us to do then?"

"In the event that he doesn't talk, you can use blackmail on him," France answered.

"But Ireland's a good friend of ours, France!" Spain exclaimed, "We can't blackmail him!"

"Then get him to talk and you won't have to." They sat in silence as Prussia and Spain considered this. The two turned to each other to discuss their decision.

"We can so do this," Prussia whispered to Spain.

"But, I don't want to resort to blackmail if we can't get him to talk."

"Don't worry about that. I'll do it!"

"How could you do that? Does his friendship mean nothing to you?"

"Blackmail's awesome! I do it all the time!"

"What?"

"Yeah! Why do you think I get my way with West?"

"You blackmailed your own brother?!"

"Oh, and if you don't let me take care of the blackmail stuff," Prussia pulled out a few pictures from his pocket and showed them to Spain, "I'll show these to Romano." The photos showed Spain standing over a napping Romano during one of his siestas (T: nap). He was touching Romano's face and kissing his cheeks as the Italian slept. He obviously had no clue what was going on.

Spain blushed lightly in embarrassment. It wasn't as if they didn't know about his obvious crush on Romano. He was just ashamed that he was caught doing something he thought was very private.

"Bueno..." (T: Okay...) Spain sighed in defeat, "I'll help with the first part. And only the first part!"

"That's just fine." Prussia and Spain turned back toward France and said that they both agreed to help France.

"Merveilleux!" (T: Marvelous!) France said with content in his voice, "I'm starting to like this plan already!"

"So, when do we start?" Prussia chuckled, the excitement getting to him.

"tomorrow. He already said he couldn't go out tonight so you can invite him tomorrow."

"He's probably having England over for dinner," Spain spoke without thinking. Prussia and France laughed slightly, taking that sentence suggestively.

"He's probably having him for the main course," Prussia chuckled out before cackling.

"He might be hungry enough for dessert as well!" France laughed loudly. Spain caught on to their jokes and started laughing as well.

The three left the bar after having their fill on wine and beer. They went their separate ways to their own houses, the plan still fresh in their minds. Spain was beginning to find this plan of France's a little more fun than bad. Prussia was excited to see what Ireland would say. Of course, he was hoping to find out what he could blackmail the Irish nation for. France was growing very interested in how this would turn out.

* * *

"Ireland! I have come to give you an awesome request!"

"And what would that be?"

"Would you like to come drinking with the awesome me?" Prussia showed up at Ireland's doorstep the next morning to set France's plan into action. He told Spain that it would seem too suspicious if they both went to the Irishman's house to ask him to going drinking. They both agreed that Prussia should be the one to ask.

Ireland's face lightened up as he said, "Sure!" without a second thought. Happy to know that this part was easy, Prussia left to prepare for that night.

As the day turned to night, the three nations began their journey to one of their favourite bars. Ireland didn't know it, but there was going to be much excitement coming from his Prussian and Spanish friends. Excitement he wasn't quite sure why they were experiencing.

Sitting down at the counter in front of the barmaid, they each ordered a drink before engaging in conversation. Spain decided to be the one to start questioning Ireland.

"Soooo, mis amigos~! Do any of you have a special someone on your minds~?" (T: my friends) Ireland twitched very lightly it was almost unnoticeable by Spain. Prussia took the hint and started talking.

"The awesome me doesn't need anybody special! I'm fine being alone!"

"Not even the barmaid, Gilbert?" Spain asked. They all looked over at the blond woman with her hair in braids. She noticed them and smiled seductively at Prussia. The three turned back to each other and waited for the Prussian's response.

"I don't know. I might show her to an awesome evening." Spain and Ireland laughed as Prussia got up to flirt with the barmaid. The Spaniard took this chance to see what Ireland would say.

"And you, Seamus~?" Ireland turned away from Prussia to look at Spain.

"Huh?"

"Do you have a special someone on your mind~?" Ireland's eyes looked away with a thoughtful expression on his face. For a moment, Spain thought that Ireland was considering whether or not to tell him. Maybe this was going to be easier than he expected.

"Well..." Ireland said thoughtfully, looking back at the Spaniard in the eyes, "I do have someone very special in my thoughts." The Irishman smiled contentedly and looked away for a moment. Prussia was starting to woo the barmaid despite his arrogance.

"Who is it?" Spain attempted to keep them on subject. Ireland looked at him with a quizzical look.

"My special someone?"

"If you don't mind. I'm just curious."

"You may have to remain curious, Antonio."

"How come?"

"Because I'm not going to tell you who it is just yet." With that, Ireland tipped his glass to his lips and chugged down his whisky. Spain stared at him with bemused grin. This wasn't going to be easy after all.

"Oh, come on, Seamus~! What's the point in keeping it hidden from us~?"

"I'm just not that open about my affection like you are to Lovino." Spain twitched as he thought about Prussia's threat. He really had to get those photos from him and burn them.

"But you can't keep it a secret forever! Love isn't suppose to be that way!"

"I'm not going to do this forever. Just for a little while."

"But why?"

"It's... a little complicated, Antonio." Then, as if understanding what Spain was up to, Ireland looked at his friend a bit cautiously. "Why do you want to know all of this?"

Spain quickly came up with an answer before freaking out that he'd been caught. "Like I said: I'm just curious!" The Spaniard laughed it off as Ireland lowered his gaze to his drink.

"Curiosity killed the cat, Antonio," the red-head replied as he chugged down his drink. Spain couldn't help but quietly sigh in relief that he wasn't found out.

"So, guess which awesome guy here has an awesome date with an almost equally awesome girl tonight?" Prussia returned to them after flirting with the barmaid. He looked at Spain as if to ask if he had gotten anything out of Ireland. Spain gave him a disapproving look to say that he was unsuccessful.

"Hmmm, I don't know," Ireland spoke after drinking his whisky, "Would it be the tall Prussian standing next to me?"

"No! It's the awesome, tall Prussian standing next to you!"

"My bad!"

"Get it right next time!"

The evening continued with more drinking, conversations, and joking around. Prussia had attempted to get Ireland to talk about his secret relationship but he still wouldn't budge.

The two meddlesome nations got too carried away that night and ended up getting very drunk. They had eventually given up on prying their Irish friend of information and concentrated more on drinking. Because of this, a suspicious but still clueless Ireland had to drag his friends home. There were perks and disadvantages of being one of the only few nations that couldn't get drunk too easily. Although, Ireland was feeling a bit tipsy as he returned home. It was a bit late but he decided to give his youngest brother a call.


	10. Plan A: Make England Confess

Prussia and Spain's attempts to get Ireland to talk failed. Let's see if France will be successful.

Yeah, this description's a bit short today but oh well. I hope you guys enjoy this little chapter!

* * *

The morning that Prussia invited Ireland to go drinking with him and Spain, France made a trip to England's house. He knew he wouldn't get anything out of England through drinks. Not only was the Englishman angry when he drank, he said a lot of different things at once. No one can understand what he's talking about or how he ended straying from one topic to the next.

France had a better idea, although, the chances of it working were 50-50. If he can annoy him enough, England can either accidentally spit it out or try to kill France. It was worth a shot.

France rang the door bell and waited for England or one of his brothers to answer the door. When the door opened, he saw a tall, red-haired man smoking a cigarette. Scotland.

"Hello, France," Scotland greeted. The two were pretty close through the years. Although, France wasn't about to include Scotland in this. Anything that involved England caused Scotland to do some very cruel, unusual, and sometimes unforgivable things. Besides, France wasn't sure how the Scot would react once he found out about England and Ireland's secret affair.

"Bonjour, Scotland! Is England here?"

"Where else would he be? He's in the living room doing his embroidery."

"May I see him for a moment?"

"Why do you want to see him?"

"Just to talk business."

"Who's at the door, Scotty?" Wales walked into view and saw France, acknowledging him with a hello.

"Hey, Wales? You want to tell 'brother dearest' that France is here?"

"England! Your best friend is here!" Wales yelled into a room.

"Who is it?" yelled a British accent.

"I already told you it's your best friend!"

"They're already here!"

"But this is your human best friend!" Scotland yelled, "And he's very Frenchy!"

There was silence for a moment before England shouted back, "Go away, France!"

"But I'm here on important business!"

"Is your boss behind this?"

"Non!"

"Then I don't care! Go away!"

"Just go in there," Scotland whispered, "He can't do anything about you just being here."

"I enter to face a fate much worse than death," France replied with a chuckle.

France stepped through the front door and walked into the living room to see England concentrating on his embroidery.

"Bonjour, mon ami." England accidentally pricked himself with his needle at the sound of the Frenchman's accent. He looked up to see his enemy leaning against the door frame of the room, smirking and holding in a chuckle.

"Fuck! What are you trying to do?!"

"What always do: torture you." France chuckled loudly at England's angered face. Scotland and Wales appeared in the doorway and watched their brother being tormented by the man he's hated since childhood.

"We'll leave you two to your business," Scotland said with a laugh. The two disappeared into a different room.

France walked further into the room and sat on the couch opposite England. They stared at each other for a moment, England in hatred and France in amusement. Finally, England went back to his embroidery and spoke.

"So, seeing me bed-ridden wasn't enough for you. You had to see me the next day as well."

"Only to discuss something important."

"And what exactly would that be?"

"I just want to know... is there anyone... oh, I don't know... special... in your life?"

"Special? What have I ever owned in my life that was special?"

"What about Ireland?" England's needle stopped half way through the cloth. The Brit didn't bother to look up. He knew there'd be a smirk on that bearded face. Ever since his brother's independence, France taunted England about it to no end. It had been awhile since the last time he did that. Why now?

"That's history, France. He doesn't want anything to do with me. I'm completely fine with that."

"Let's say he did?"

"Then I guess we would start being brothers again."

"And if he wanted to be a part of the United Kingdom again?" England's needle stopped again, this time making it out of the cloth. England still refused to look up into that gloating face of his. He wasn't going to let the Frenchman get to him.

"He never wanted to be a part of the United Kingdom. He made it clear that night he..." England trailed off but continued his craft. "Anyways, if Ireland decided to come back to us, it would make us all happy."

"Are you sure about that? Last time I checked, Northern Ireland is still mad at his older brother."

"He'll be happy. Trust me."

"It would make you happy, wouldn't it? Having Ireland back into your little kingdom."

"Yeah, it wou-" England's needle didn't even penetrate the cloth as he looked up at France. The long-haired man raised an eyebrow as his enemy seemed frozen for a moment. His expression was calm which was unusual when he and France talked.

"Why are we talking about this?" England asked, his voice also calm.

"I guess I got side tracked. What were we talking about again?"

"Who my special someone was-" England stopped himself after realizing what was going on.

_There's no way he knows! How?! We were so careful!_ That's when he remembered France's sudden appearance the day before. _No... He actually saw us... I can't believe this..._

"Out."

"Excusez-moi?"

"Get out!"

"Calm down, England. It was just a ques-"

"Get your bloody arse out of my house, you frog! Right now!"

"Okay, okay! I'm going!"

"I don't want to see your disgusting face around here again! You hear me?!" France rushed out the door before England did anything with the needle in his fingers.

Talking to England proved nothing except that he's now suspicious of France. Provoking him obviously didn't work out too well.

_It looks like I'll have to resort to blackmail. I wonder if Prussia and Spain got Ireland to talk. If they did, maybe Ireland will convince England into coming out. I didn't think it would be this difficult._

* * *

It was about 1:00 in the morning when the phone rang. It was a bit unusual for there to be a call at this hour but the more awake member of the house answered the call. He was hoping it wasn't some prank call since only bored teenagers seem to call at 1:00 in the morning for nonsense.

"Hello?" England asked into the receiver.

"Thank God you answered the phone," came Ireland's voice.

"Seamus?" England started whispering in case one of his brothers woke up.

"I'm sorry I'm calling you this late but it was kind of urgent."

"What's going on?"

"Prussia invited me to go drinking with him this morning. I thought nothing of it and agreed to his offer. When we get there, Spain shows up and starts asking us if we have anyone special on our minds. I thought that was a little strange but, then again, Spain claims to be the country of passion. But, then he kept asking me if I had anyone."

"You didn't say anything, did you?"

"I said there was someone close to me but I didn't specify. But even after I told him this, he kept pressing on."

"You don't think he-"

"I think so. Prussia started asking me weird questions too. How could they know?"

"I think I know who's behind all of this."

"Who?"

"France."

"Why France?"

"He came over my house today. He asked me a bunch of weird questions. All concerning you."

"What was he asking?"

"He was just taunting me. Kind of like after you split up from-" England stopped himself before he said anymore. He thought talking about Ireland's independence was still touchy to him just like it was to Northern Ireland. England himself still felt a little off when talking about it.

"So, what did you do?"

"I kicked him out."

"But why would France do this? And why would he get Spain and Prussia involved?"

"I think this is all for his personal gain. He wants us to tell them that we're in a relationship. I don't know what his motive behind this is but it's not going to work."

"You think we need to be more careful?"

"Yeah. We should probably stop visiting each other so frequently. And maybe I should call you instead of you call me. There are more people in the house and any one of them could pick up the phone. One of them is bound to grow suspicious about you calling so frequently and asking for me."

"You're right. But we shouldn't change how we act in public. If we avoid each other more often or appear to be acting friendly towards each other, that'll raise red flags."

"I hope they don't pull anything at the meeting next week."

"Ugh! I forgot all about the world meeting on Friday!"

"Let's just try to remain calm. Even if they know, they can't prove anything. We can always deny it if they say something."

"I guess we could. I didn't think keeping this a secret would cause this much trouble."

_"And if he wanted to be a part of the United Kingdom again?"_ England thought back to what France had said. He had never apologized to Ireland about causing him all of that pain. He told the Irishman he was sorry for nearly shattering his leg but never about making him join the United Kingdom.

_"It would make you happy, wouldn't it? Having Ireland back into your little kingdom."_ Even though France said all of that to upset England, it was starting to get to him.

"Hey, Seamus..."

"Yes, Deartháir Beag?"

_Dammit... I can't do this over the phone. Not like this._

"N-Nothing. It was nothing."

"Ummm, okay. It's late. We need our rest."

"Good night, Seamus."

"Good night, Deartháir Beag." They both hung up but England didn't go back to the comfort of his bed. He was still thinking about the things France said to him earlier that day.

_I'm sorry, Ireland..._


	11. Plan B: Blackmail!

And the plot thickens! Well, it'll thicken even more as the world meeting commences! With America's outrageous ideas, England's arguments, and Germany's short patience with them, what could possibly go wrong? Besides the usual madness, Prussia and Spain have a surprise for Ireland. Wonder how he reacts to it...

If the translations or historical notes are wrong forgive me. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

"Now, if you all chip in, I'm sure my plan to stop Global Warming will work!" America declared to the whole room. England, who was sitting next to him, sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"For the last time America," the Englishman said slowly, "we are not doing this!"

"Why won't you give my idea a chance?"

"Because it's idiotic! There's no way it'll work!"

"Well maybe if a certain old man wasn't being so negative, some people might agree to it!"

"I agree with America-san."

"Thank you Japan!"

"Don't motivate him, Japan!"

"Tell us what _you_ think!"

It was another normal world meeting filled with arguments, America's ridiculous ideas, and England's insults. The only thing that was missing was Germany's yelling.

"He doesn't really believe it'll work, does he?" Ireland asked France who was sitting next to him.

"America's idea about getting a superhero to save the world from Global Warming?"

"Yeah. This is the third time he's brought it up at a meeting."

"He'll give up eventually. He just needs time."

"Tell that to England." The Frenchman chuckled, making Ireland look at him from the corner of his eye.

"England never had much patience." Ireland went back to staring at the two arguing nations.

"I guess."

As England and America continued to argue, everyone began to chat with other nations and mess around. France had joined into the argument, only making England angrier with his opinions. Russia was attempting to make other nations a part of him but frightened them instead (although, that could be because Belarus was behind him giving the other nations evil glares). Italy was doodling on a sheet of paper, not caring or paying attention to the environment around him. Spain was aggravating Romano with his affectionate ways. Canada was sitting in his chair with his bear, hoping someone will ask for his input on the argument. Germany appeared to be losing his patience and on the verge of taking over the meeting as usual.

Ireland watched them with bored eyes. He just wanted to have his moment to speak and then go home. Ireland closed his eyes and began day dreaming. Despite the constant chatter in the room, Ireland was able to drift off to a certain memory. Another memory from his earlier days with his brothers. Wales had finally reached adulthood, Scotland was coming close to Wales, Ireland and his northern twin were well into their teens, and England was just reaching his teenage years. With puberty and loss of childish innocence, there was more chaos between England and his brothers.

* * *

"England!" Scotland's voice boomed through the house. The family had gathered at Ireland and his twin's house to celebrate Halloween that year. They had all dressed up in horrifying costumes to scare off any bad spirits, and Wales and Scotland were about to go outside of the village to perform in the yearly ritual. The only problem was that Scotland was having a hard time finding his mask.

"England! Where the hell did you put my mask?!"

"What makes you think I have something to do with it missing?!"

"You were the last one to hold it, so you should know!"

"I was _not_ the last one to touch it! North was!" Ireland's younger twin looked up and gave England a dirty look.

"What are you talking about?" North asked in an angry tone, "I didn't touch it at all today."

"You liar! I saw you!"

"Who are you calling a liar?!" England lunged towards North, nearly knocking over the table in the living room. He was stopped from punching the Irish nation by his cape being pulled at his neck roughly. England was forced backwards and landed on his butt. He looked up to see that the one who stopped him from attacking his older brother was the southern part of Ireland.

"Deartháir Beag," Ireland said in a calm voice, "You don't have to resort to violence over a small dispute." Ireland then pulls out a demonic looking mask from inside of his cloak. "I guess I forgot to put it back after North let me look at it." Ireland gave Scotland a sheepish look, hoping he wouldn't get too mad at him.

Scotland was still mad but he appeared to be relaxing a bit. He snatched the mask out of Ireland's hand and examined it to make sure it wasn't damaged.

"You guys are so lucky it's still in tact," was all Scotland said in an irritated voice before putting the mask on. The devilish mask hid their brother's face with its demonic appearance. It was starting to freak out North a little.

"How does it look?" Scotland asked his brothers.

"Not much of a difference from your other mask," England replied.

"Which one?"

"The one with the red hair, pale skin, and green eyes."

"Shut up you twit!"

"I think it looks gruesome, Scotland," Wales complimented.

"Eldest is right!" Ireland exclaimed, "You did a really good job this year!"

"Y-Yeah..." North stuttered, "I-It looks a b-b-bit t-too real..."

"Thank you for your input everyone. Except you, England. Your opinion doesn't matter to me."

"Likewise."

"All right, you know the routine, Ireland?" Wales asked the twins.

"Y-Yeah..." North replied quietly.

"Yes, Eldest!" Ireland exclaimed, "You and Big Brother are going to the ritual tonight while North and I watch Deartháir Beag!"

"Make sure the bad spirits stay away," Scotland reminded him as he adjusted his mask.

"Will do!"

"Okay, we're leaving now," Wales said while donning his mask, "Remember that there's food in the kitchen for your supper tonight, don't relight the fire, and make sure England doesn't cook."

"Shut up! There is nothing wrong with my cooking!"

"I'm not going to argue with you tonight. Now, go to bed at a decent hour. We've got another big day ahead of us tomorrow."

"We will, Eldest!" Ireland assured his oldest brother, "Oíche mhaith! Have a nice ritual!" (T: Goodnight!)

"Nos da." (T: Goodnight) Wales and Scotland turned and left the house to participate in the yearly rituals of Halloween.

North got up and walked upstairs to the bedroom he shared with Ireland.

"Where are you going?" the older twin called up to him.

"Upstairs..."

"All alone? Why don't you stay down here with me and Deartháir Beag?"

"Deartháir Beag, Deartháir Beag..." North sneered, "It's always Deartháir Beag! I swear you spoil him to death!"

"North!"

"No! Don't even deny it! You defend him when we yell at him! You cover for him when it's his fault! And you lied to Big Brother's face just now! You never even touched the mask!"

"It's better than setting him up to be yelled at!"

"This is what brothers do, South! You act more like a father than a brother to him!"

"If that's true then so be it! What you, Big Brother, and Eldest are doing is cruel! I tolerated it when we were young but we're older now! You should've learned to get along by now!"

"I don't like him! None of us do! We never liked him from the beginning!" Ireland stared at North in shock. It was rare enough to hear him yell but to hear him voice out his hatred for England? That was very rare. He usually keeps that to himself and only says this on occasion. Ireland must've really made him mad.

"I don't know what you saw in him or why we ever agreed to claim him as our brother!" After that, North disappeared up the stairs and slammed their door. Ireland looked over at England who was staring out the window. It was a cold dark night but it was actually clear. The stars and moon were out and a pale mist began to move across the land.

"You okay, Deartháir Beag?" England looked away from the window and noticed the worried look in his brother's eyes.

"Their words don't bother me anymore. They just piss me off."

"Really? You're not just saying that to get rid of me?"

"Yes. I'm telling the truth." England turned and looked Ireland in the eye. "I have no reason to lie to you." This made Ireland smile as he reached for England's hand.

"Okay, Deartháir Beag, I believe you." Ireland took England's hand into his and widened his eyes. England's hands were as cold as ice.

"You're cold, Deartháir Beag. Really cold."

"I didn't notice to be honest."

"Come here."

"What are you-" Ireland wrapped his cloak around England's shoulder, pulling him into an embrace. The Englishman blushed a little and looked up at his brother.

"South? What are you doing?"

"Warming you up. You'll get sick if you stay cold like this."

"You don't have to do this."

"But I want to." England blushed a little more but accepted Ireland's kindness. He wraps his arms around his green-clothed brother and buried his head in his chest. In return, Ireland brought his hand up to England's blond hair and ruffled it. It was turning into a very nice Halloween.

"Sásta go léir oíche roimh na Naomh, Deartháir Beag." (T: Happy All Hallow's Eve, Little Brother) England had heard enough Gaelic to understand what Ireland was saying. Besides, Ireland kept saying this phrase every day for the past few weeks and all day today.

"Happy All Hallow's Eve, South."

* * *

"Enough! All of you be quiet and sit down!" Ireland was forced out of his thoughts by Germany's yelling. The German had finally snapped more than a few nerves and was taking over the meeting. Just another normal world meeting for the nations.

Everyone stopped what they were doing to listen to Germany's commands, returning to their seats to start the actual meeting. He stated the rules of how things will be done before their break in an hour. The nations groaned or silently complained as they accepted this.

"If anyone wants to go ahead and do their report, speak now before I have to volunteer someone!" Italy lazily raised his hand from the left of Germany. He looked over at his friend and gave the Italian a glare.

"Italy... If you have anything to say about pasta or pizza, then put your hand down." At the blond's words, Italy lazily let his arm fall back to his side. He let out a dissatisfied "ve" as Germany volunteered Switzerland to begin his report.

It was over an hour later when Germany called for a break. Everyone got up or left the room to stretch, chat with other nations, or grab a snack before the meeting continued. Ireland decided to stand for a bit and talk to France before the break was over. France, however, was making his way toward England. Ireland could only assume that France wanted to trouble England and it would only result in another argument between them.

"Hey, Ireland~!" The red-head turned to see Spain near the double doors of the room. "Can you come over here for a moment?"

"Sure." Ireland walked over to Spain, wondering what he wanted. "What is it?"

"Can you walk with me for a bit? There's something I want to show you." A bit suspicious but cautious, Ireland agreed to go with Spain.

The two countries walked down the long hallway until they reached a dead-end. There were no windows or doors here; just a wall, some paintings and a plant in the corner. There was also a white-haired, red-eyed Prussian leaning against the wall with a smirk on his face.

"Guten tag, Ireland."

"Dia duit, Prussia. What's going on?"

"I'm sure you know. Why don't you tell us? Or, better yet, why not the whole world?"

"I think you need to clarify because I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"We know you're dating your brother, England." Ireland widened his eyes in shock.

_So they do know..._

"Don't try to deny it~!" Spain said cheerfully behind Ireland. "We might have to convince you to see it our way if you do~!" Ireland looked at Spain then back at Prussia, not sure exactly what they'd do to make him talk.

"What are you going to do if I happen to think you're mistaken?" The Irishman asked.

"Something tells me there's a reason you don't go out in public like this..." Prussia pulled out some photos from his coat pocket and showed them to Ireland. His dark green eyes grew even wider as he saw what was in the pictures.

"Ireland~? Is that a skirt you're wearing~?"

"It's a kilt! There's nothing wrong with it! Scotland wears them all the time!"

"Then what's with that reaction? Kesesesesesesese!"

"I can't believe you did this! How did you take these pictures!"

"That's not important! What is important is that you start talking or else the whole world will know that you love wearing skirts!"

Ireland stood between them, unsure what to do at the moment.

_Shit! If I deny it, they'll hang this over my head forever! Even worse, the whole world will know! But, Deartháir Beag might be upset that I let this happen... Although, it _was_ my decision to keep our relationship a secret... We should've discussed this earlier on... But... I guess..._

"Fine... I admit that England and I are in a relationship. Happy?"

"Not quite!" Prussia said, pocketing the photos, "Now you have to walk through those doors and tell everyone in the room about this!"

"But our brothers are in there!"

"Then they'll at least be there to hear it from you instead of someone else!"

"You don't know them, Prussia! They can be very horrible to Deartháir Beag sometimes!"

"I think they'll be more shocked than anything," Spain chided in.

The three walked back towards the door of the meeting room to see a very strange sight. Everyone was quiet and staring at the one nation in the room that wasn't: England. He was yelling at France but it wasn't the usual banter from their arguments. He was really mad at France and whatever he was saying shocked the other nations in the room.

"You know why I agreed to this?! The only reason I did this was-"

Ireland stood there, frozen and rigid from the words England shouted. All his confidence slipped away. His fear of everyone knowing about them was crushed. The thought of what their brothers would do or think of them was erased from his mind. All he could think about was the rage building up inside him. Behind that rage was sadness and betrayal.

"You... _what?_" was all Ireland could say in a low voice as England turned to him with a worried expression.

* * *

Many years ago in Ireland, Halloween was celebrated much differently than today. Instead of going to strangers' houses, begging for candy, adults donned costumes and horrific masks to ward off evil spirits. They would put out the fires in the house to keep any bad spirits out and then go outside of the village to perform rituals. These rituals did include sacrifices but it was later outlawed. It wasn't until years later that neighbours would go to each other's houses to offer treats.

I keep forgetting to mention this but, if you haven't noticed, whenever there are flashbacks Ireland and his twin are addressed as North and South. This was before they were forced into the United Kingdom so at this point they were both seen as Ireland. Their brothers nicknamed them North and South to easily distinguish them, though, some of Ireland's friends called him "Ireland" instead of "South."


	12. Plan B Succeeds and Fails

While Spain and Prussia are talking Ireland into confessing, France tests his luck with England again. It doesn't turn out like either of them expects. Words are said and hearts are broken before the meeting can even continue.

I hope you guys like this even if it's sad.

**Warning:** France says some pretty explicit things.

* * *

"That was a nice argument, England." England turned to see France standing behind him, that same smirk on his face. He groaned slightly to himself. He was not in the mood to deal with France.

"What do you want?" the Brit asked irritably.

"Is that a way to treat a friend of yours?"

"You? My friend? What world are you living in?"

"A world where a certain Englishman decides to have relations with his Irish brother," France lowered his voice to a whisper. England looked at him with narrowed eyes.

_So he does know..._

"I see day dreaming isn't just Ireland's thing."

"You noticed too? I think he was having a fond memory."

"Probably from before he became a part of me."

"Who knows? Maybe something happened recently."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

"I bearly ever talk to Ireland. You're asking the wrong person."

"I believe I'm asking the right person."

_I know what he's doing. He's trying to get me to admit it._

"Ireland~!" England peered over to see Spain call Ireland over to the doors. Spain told Ireland he wanted to show him something and left with him down the hall. It didn't take England long to realize what was going on.

_Seamus... Whatever you do, don't tell them a single thing!_

"Is there something wrong, England?" The Briton was taken away from his thoughts by the Frenchman. He narrowed his eyes at France a little more.

"No. Nothing."

"That's really no surprise to me."

"Why is that?"

"Because, from what I saw, things are going pretty well. Maybe more than well."

"You really need to stop beating around the bush because I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm sure you don't, you little delinquent." England paused and stared at France with wide eyes. He wasn't shocked but his patience was running out.

"What did you say?"

"Don't tell me you don't remember those days. You were so rebellious and troublesome. And the tattoo you-"

"I remember!" France smirked and chuckled at England's reaction.

"Then you'll listen to me?"

"That depends on what you're going to tell me." France leaned in close to England's face, his smirk only growing wider.

"I know you're doing things with Ireland. Spain and Prussia know as well."

"You know, when you say it like that, you make it sound like we're just fuck buddies."

"I wasn't expecting that reaction."

"What? Were you expecting me to be shocked and say 'oh, don't tell anyone, I'll do whatever you say, France?'"

"Sort of."

"I know what you're doing and it's not going to work."

"You'd ruin your reputation to keep your relationship a secret?"

"That truly doesn't matter to me."

_He must really love him,_ France thought, _Such devotion and loyalty... I should still try to make him confess._

"Since you're not even going to keep denying it, I must ask you something."

"And what would that be?"

"What's it like to kiss him?" England's cheeks heated up into a light blush as he heard France's question. He had to replay what he heard in his mind a few times to make sure he really did say that.

"Excuse me?"

"What's it like to kiss your brother? Is it weird or do you not think about it while you're kissing?"

"Why would you want to know that?"

"I've wondered what an incest relationship was like. I wanted to hear it first hand from someone currently in one."

"That's weird. I'm not telling you that!"

"Then, could you tell me what it feels like to have his tongue inside your mouth?"

"Why would you assume-"

"I saw you two last week. I'm positive you were doing something more than kissing."

"You're disgusting."

"Am I? Something tells me you're worse. What all have you two done? Kissing? Making out? Sex?" England's blush increased, making France grin very suggestively.

"You have, haven't you?"

"You're wrong..."

"It's written all over your face, England. What does he do to you? Does he prefer to use his hands or mouth often? Does he touch you in the right spots? Does it feel good when he thrusts inside-"

"We are not having sex!" England yelled very loudly. Almost every nation in the room grew quiet and turned their heads to look at England and France. England seemed to be oblivious to the sudden silence. All he could think about was that France went too far. He couldn't think about doing anything but yelling at the French nation.

"You sick son of a bitch! How dare you talk about him like that!"

"England, calm down-"

"Don't tell me to calm down you damn frog! I know what you're doing!"

"This isn't a big deal!"

"Yes this is a big deal! Do you not know what we go through for this relationship to work?! Do you think I wanted to hide this from everyone, including my own brothers?! No! That was Ireland's decision!"

"England, please lower your voice!"

"Is this what you want, France? For me to tell the whole world that I'm dating my own brother? Well, they know now!"

"That's good, England. That's enough-"

"And you want to know why I did this?!"

"You've said enough! There's no need to keep going on!"

"You know why I agreed to this?! The only reason I did this was so that Ireland would come back to the United Kingdom! We'll be united once again! We'll be a family again!"

"You... _what?_" came an Irish accent.

England slowly turned toward the door to see Ireland standing there with Prussia and Spain on either side of him. Ireland's face was still and relaxed but his eyes showed his true emotions. From what everyone could see, Ireland was angry. He was more than angry. He was severely pissed.

England was able to see something beyond the dark green of his brother's eyes. He could see that Ireland was heart-broken. Ireland felt betrayed by the brother he loved so dearly.

"You... spoiled... little...bitch!" Ireland growled through gritted teeth, "This whole time... you only wanted me back?!"

"No! Seamus!"

"Don't ever say my human name!"

"You don't understand!"

"What is there to understand? I thought I told you years ago that I will _never_ come back! What part of that do _you_ not understand?!"

"Please! Let me explain!"

"Well? I'm listening!"

"It was a mistake!" Ireland looked at England in surprise, then hatred.

"If our relationship was a mistake, you should've told me..."

"No, wait! That's not what I-"

"Did you ever feel anything for me?! Did you ever love me?!"

"Please, Ireland! Don't-"

"That's right! My name is Ireland! The Republic of Ireland! And you are the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland! Our names will remain that way just like we agreed!"

"Please listen to me!"

"I'm done listening to you, England! What you did is the most unforgivable thing you've ever done!"

"But-"

"Do yourself a favour and never speak to me again. Don't come near me. Don't even bother trying to contacting me."

England became quiet as Ireland walked past him and sat down in his assigned chair. There was nothing else England could do or say to get Ireland to listen to him. He returned to his seat next to his astounded brothers as everyone went back to their seats.

The meeting continued a little awkwardly as each country spoke. When it was Ireland's turn, he spoke clearly without any anger to his voice. He avoided looking at his brothers through his report but the look in his eyes never left. It was obvious, if you could see his eyes, that Ireland was still upset about what England said. You can even say he looked hurt.

The meeting had at last come to an end. Ireland was putting his papers away as the other countries filed out of the room.

"Ve~! Ireland~! Do you wanna come to my house for pasta~?"

"Italy! He just had a fight with one of his brothers!" Germany intervened, "Give him some space."

"He's fine, Germany," Ireland said, putting on a fake smile for them, "I'm sorry, Italy, but I'll have to decline your offer. Maybe another time?"

"Ve~! Okay~!" The two left with Japan following after them.

"Ireland~!" The red-head looked over to see Russia standing next to his chair. Behind him were his two sisters, Belarus and Ukraine. Belarus was giving him an evil glare while Ukraine shot him a worried look.

"Hello, Russia."

"You're brother England did something really cruel, didn't he?"

"... Yeah."

"Shall I rid you of your problems?" Ireland could see that crazed look in Russia's eyes and the purple aura begin to form. He knew Russia would do it if he asked. Without a second's thought he would kill or brutally maim England. But, Ireland couldn't bring himself to cause England any harm. He couldn't shoot him during the final battle that led to his independence, he can't allow Russia to hurt him now.

"No, Russia. It's fine. If I have to, I'll do it myself."

"Well, if you ever need to, I'm always here."

"All right. I'll keep that in mind." Russia gave him a short nod before leaving the room with his sisters.

Ireland sighed as he snapped his suitcase shut and rose from his seat. He wasn't able to turn around when America ran up to him.

"Hey! I know what we should do to get stupid England off your mind!"

"What makes you think England's in my thoughts?"

"You keep having this faraway look in your eyes and you haven't even glanced at England during the whole meeting!"

"I guess his words kind of bothered me."

"You think?! You completely flipped out! It was cool and scary at the time!"

"So, how do you suppose you'll cure me of my thoughts?"

"Let's go to a bar! I found this really cool place the other day and I just know you're gonna love it!"

What Ireland said next shocked almost every country in the room.

"Sorry, America, but I'm going to have to decline."

"Ireland? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I just need some time to myself is all."

"Are you sure?"

"Don't worry yourself, Freddy Boy. I'll be fine." America blushed at his old nickname from when he was small. Ireland decided to call America "Freddy Boy" only because the child never told him what the "F" in Alfred F. Jones stood for. Even today, when chance strikes it, Ireland will address America as "Freddy Boy" instead of "Alfred."

"Okay... Suit yourself..." As Ireland walked out of the doors to the meeting room, he heard his name being called again. He stopped and groaned to himself. He was in no mood to talk, converse, go out, or do anything with anyone. He just wanted to go home, slip into some more comfortable clothes, cuddle up with some whisky, and cry himself to sleep.

Ireland turned around to see France catch up to him. He too had a concerned look on his face like everyone else.

"Ireland, what's wrong with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play ignorant with me. It may work on the others but I won't put up with it."

"I really don't want to talk about it, France."

"I'm sorry I did this little trick on you two. I didn't think it would get this far."

"It's okay, France. At least now I know how he truly felt about..." Unwillingly, a tear slipped out of Ireland's eye and down his cheek. "I'm sorry. I should leave."

As Ireland walked past France, he felt a hand grab his wrist. He looked up at France who appeared to be even more concerned for him.

"If you ever feel like talking about it, you'll come to me, right?"

"Yeah..." A few more tears slipped out as Ireland pulled away and headed towards the bathroom. There was no one in there besides him, giving Ireland the chance to let his guard down. He let the tears fall, trying to stifle his sobs from the echoing walls of the bathroom. When the Irishman believed that no more would come out, he ran the faucet to wash his face with some cold water.

It wasn't until Ireland put his glasses back on that he saw himself in the mirror. His appearance was much better than it had been a month or two ago. He wasn't so skinny, his skin wasn't as deathly pale as it had been for a while, and the shadows under his eyes had disappeared. The only disapproving part of his features was the redness of his puffy eyes.

Ireland knew that the reason for his more healthy appearance was all because of England. He was frail because of his separation from England and he became stronger because of his little brother's love.

_Love... He never did feel that way towards me, did he?_

_You'd never hate me even if I did something unforgivable?_ Ireland remembered that cherished memory of his younger brother.

_You're my deartháir beag and nothing you do can bring me to hate you._

Ireland stared down at the sink, feeling the tears come up again. He gripped the handle of his suitcase and wiped roughly at the tears that weren't there yet.

"Why can I not hate you?"

* * *

England sat in the stall listening to his older brother's quiet sobs. He had been sitting there since the meeting ended. He couldn't bear to see Ireland's angered face again. The Irishman rarely ever got mad at him besides the times he was in the United Kingdom and the years of war that led to his independence. It was a side of Ireland that both frightened and shocked England.

"Why can I not hate you?" he heard Ireland's creaked voice ask aloud. He knew the question was directed toward him.

Hearing the door close, England put his legs down and continued to sit on the toilet. Today had turned out worse than he expected. He assumed France would try to make him confess about their relationship. He didn't think that he'd push him far enough to start saying anything that came to mind. Even worse, Ireland heard all of it and is no doubt very mad at him.

_Why did it have to turn out like this?_ England thought.

_Why can I not hate you?_ Hearing those words over and over in his head, England had an idea.

"Maybe it's not too late," he whispered as he stood up and walked out of the bathroom.


	13. Desparation

After France's plan for the couple to confess backfires and England says something he shouldn't, the British nation realizes he must set things right. Will he be able to or will it be a waste of time?

There is implied SpainXRomano and GermanyXItaly! Also, I was not trying to make fun of Italy's boss, this was just for the story.

I hope you guys enjoy this! It took me a while to type up this chapter so try to enjoy it!

* * *

England stood in front of the door, contemplating whether or not this was a good idea. The British nation decided that he should try to ask Ireland's friends for advice. He didn't want Ireland to stay mad at him for another few decades all because of some misunderstanding. Although, he wasn't sure that starting here was such a wise decision.

England rang the doorbell and waited for the owner of the house to appear.

"I've got it, Lovi~!" Spain called to someone in the room. After a rude "Stop calling me that!" from Romano, Spain opened the door to see England. For a moment, they stood there staring at each other. Spain wasn't sure if his eyes were playing tricks on him. England was considering turning around and going somewhere else.

"What brings you here, England?" Spain asked in his normal, cheery voice. The blond took a deep breath before speaking, preparing for the worst.

"That thing that happened yesterday... I want to set things right... So, I'd like your help, if you may-"

"No." England almost didn't hear the Spaniard's answer. "Sorry, England, but I really don't think Ireland deserves you. Especially after all the things you did."

"But that's the point! I want to make him see that I'm not such a bad person!"

"You'll have better luck going to someone else because I'm not helping you. Adiós." (T: Goodbye) Spain closed the door in England's face as he sighed out in frustration.

"Well, it could've been worse," the Brit told himself.

* * *

After a tedious hour of figuring out where Italy ran off to, England found himself outside of Germany's front door. He was starting to think that this wasn't a really good idea either.

Ringing the doorbell, the British nation waited a little too anxiously for Germany to answer. He was a little surprised to see Prussia open up the door to him. Needless to say, the Prussian was also a bit surprised.

"What brings you to the slightly awesome house of my little brother?"

"I've come to ask for some advice."

"On?"

"Getting Ireland to stop being mad at me so we can be in a relationship again."

"I don't know if I can do that."

"Then can Germany or Italy give me some assistance?"

"How did you know Feli was here?"

"I spent an hour asking his boss where he was." The problem with Italy's boss was that he didn't speak much English and thought England was a regular human at first. This is why it took an hour to find a translator to explain everything to Italy's boss.

"I guess I can do that. I mean, the awesome me can't speak for everyone."

_Well, no shit,_ the British nation thought to himself as he was led into the living room. Germany was reading the paper while Italy was playing with one of Germany's dogs and trying to get Germany's attention.

"West! Feli! There's someone here who wants to talk to you guys!"

"Ve~! A visitor? How nice~!"

"Who is it Prus-" Germany stopped himself when he saw England's figure appear behind his brother's. He too was a little surprised to see the Brit.

"Guten tag, England. What brings you here?"

"I wanted to ask you for some advice."

"Advice? I'm not sure I-"

"He wants love advice," Prussia cut in. This made Germany blush a little and Italy's face light up.

"Mr. England needs some love advice?! I can do that!" Italy rushes up to England as the man takes a step back in surprise. The Italian jumps up and down excitedly with a happy grin on his face.

"What are you having problems with, England? Maybe I can help! Unless it has something to do with what to do on a date, I can give you some good advice!"

"Italy!" Germany tried to calm the Italian down. England looked away for a moment before staring Italy in the eyes.

"You wouldn't happen to know how to get your brother to stop being angry with you, would you?"

Italy stopped jumping and his smile faltered. England was sure that this would be similar to his visit to Spain's house.

"This has to do with you and Ireland, doesn't it?" the auburn-haired man asked. England answered him with a nod, not sure what Italy would tell him.

"Well, when Fratello and I have a fight, I usually make his favourite foods that have a lot of tomatoes in them. Maybe you should-"

"No!" Germany and Prussia yell at the same time. Italy looked at them with confusion and a tilt to the head. England didn't seem to be in any way offended or upset. What people thought of his cooking wasn't a concern at the moment.

"I could give you some awesome advice on this situation," Prussia offered, "But West usually cools down after a while. Plus, I never said anything _that_ hurtful to him."

England sighed and slumped his shoulders. Obviously, coming to Germany's house wasn't going to help him.

"Do you have any advice to offer, Germany?" England attempted to see if possibly the German nation would help him out, even a little.

The lighter blond male gave the Brit a discouraging look. Still, he held a serious gaze and kept a perfect poise any military sergent would praise.

"I'm afraid you're asking the wrong person, England," Germany replied in a calm voice, "You see, I just ended up in a relationship so I'm not really sure what to tell you." Italy walked over to the couch, sat next to Germany, and cuddled into his arm. The Italian let out a happy "ve~" as Germany continued. "I still have yet to know all the things that go on in a relationship. The good things, the bad things, the sad things, the aggravating things."

England's eyebrows drooped into a sad expression. It wasn't just Germany's words that depressed him. It was seeing Italy snuggling up against Germany's arm like the Brit use to do to Ireland's chest. It was seeing the faint blush that spread across the German's face like it did with the red-head when he confessed his feelings to him. It was seeing Prussia look at the couple with pride and happiness just as England secretly hoped his older brothers would do one day. He didn't think he'd grow so sad from seeing other couples being happy with each other.

"I thank you for your effort. You at least tried."

England turned to leave but was stopped by Italy speaking up.

"Hey, England! If you want advice on how to make Ireland happy again, shouldn't you go to his best friend?"

It struck England a few times to go to the one closest to Ireland. Although, he wasn't sure how it would turn out. The closer the relation, the more likely they are to defend and protect Ireland from England.

"I guess talking to the leprechauns might help," England said subconsciously.

"I was actually thinking that maybe you can talk to Big Brother France?"

"Oh no! I will never go to him for advice! Even in the worst case scenario, I will never go to him!"

"Ahhhhhh! It was just a suggestion! Don't yell at me!" Italy hid his face behind Germany's shoulder in fear, his boyfriend patting his head awkwardly to comfort him.

"I'm sorry, Italy. I'll leave now."

* * *

"Don't take another step forward, lad!" Oran, Ireland's eldest leprechaun, shouted at England. England had just gotten off the ferry to get to Ireland's land, and was about to step into Dublin when Ireland's leprechauns surrounded him. This was not turning into a good day.

"I haven't come to hurt Ireland in any way. I only came to talk to you."

"About what?" a much younger male leprechaun demanded.

"I want to make things right. I want us to get back together."

"You've had your chance! And you screwed it up twice!"

"That's why I want to set things right!"

"Well, you can't do that because Ireland's not here!" a female leprechaun snapped. The other leprechauns looked at her with disappointing looks.

"Ashling! We told you not to tell him that!"

"Sorry! It slipped!"

"What do you mean, he's not here?" England asked, sounding a little more desperate than he had intended.

"We're not telling you!" the young male leprechaun shouted, "You don't deserve him after what you did!"

England let his shoulders slouch, not caring to show proper alignment of his back and shoulders. He knew the little creatures were right.

"I know I don't deserve him. I don't even deserve to acknowledge him as my older brother. He's been so kind to me, he put up with everything I did even if it hurt him. Worst of all, I was the cause of all of his suffering. I can understand if you hate me. I can understand if my brothers hate me. But I can't understand Ireland hating me."

"And why's that?" Oran asked.

"Because... Ireland made a promise to me when we first met that he would never hate me. No matter what unforgivable thing I've done he said he would never hate me." A tear threatened to escape from England's eye but he willed it to stay inside his lid.

Oran stood in front of England quietly and smoked from his pipe. He was considering whether or not if he should tell England where Ireland was. With a final exhale of smoke, the elder leprechaun gave the Englishman his final word before leaving.

"If you truly love Ireland, you'll go through any length to get him back. Just make sure you don't mess it up this time." And with that, Oran ordered the others to leave with him into the forest.

* * *

Going from the eldest leprechaun's words, England decided he was going to do anything to get Ireland back. Even if he wasn't going to enjoy his next decision, he knew he had to do it for Ireland. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

England's finger hovered over the doorbell of France's house. He knew it was a bad idea to come here but he didn't have any other options. There was no one closer to Ireland than his leprechauns or France. The magical creatures didn't want to cooperate so he had to go to his worst enemy, and Ireland's best friend.

_Maybe I should just turn around. I mean, I don't have to come to him for advice. He may be Ireland's best friend but... Oh, bloody hell... He's the only one Ireland ever goes to. Why wouldn't he know about Ireland's every problem? He practically knows the man inside and out._

England presses the doorbell and hears it go off inside the house.

_I'm doing this for Ireland. Not out of desperation. I'm not desperate enough to go to him, I'm only doing this for Ireland._

England could hear a pair of footsteps coming to the door before stopping for a moment. It wasn't a minute later when the door opened, revealing the French nation England loathed.

"Well, if it isn't Eyebrows. What brings your disturbing presence to my lovely home?"

"I'm not in the mood for jokes, you bloody frog. I'm here to ask something of you."

"Of moi? What could you possibly want out of me?"

"I... want... some advice... on... on..."

"On...?"

"I want to get back with Ireland... And I think you're the only one who can help me." France stared at the English nation for a moment before shaking his head.

"I'm sorry but there's nothing I can do for you. Au re-"

"Don't you dare shut the door in my face! You're the only one who can tell me what I can do!"

"Do you think I'll just tell you what to do? Do you think Ireland's the only one that despises you right now?"

"If you hadn't of pissed me off, this wouldn't have happened!"

"And have Ireland find out much later how you truly feel about him? I think it was for the best."

"You don't even know why I said that! I didn't mean for it to come out like that!"

"Look, arguing isn't going to get us anywhere. Just go home, England. We'll sort this out another-"

"No! Please!" France paused at the sound of England's pleading voice. Not very often had the Frenchman heard his enemy beg. In fact, it was so rare that every time France heard England beg, he became shocked. The Briton was usually so stubborn that it would take a lot out of him to even make him give in.

"Oui?"

"Look, I'm really getting desperate here. No one has been able to provide me with any help or advice. I only came to you because I know how close you and Ireland are. I thought that maybe you would at least give me a small hint on how to make him less angry with me."

France stood there for a moment and stared at the crumbling blond. He could see that England was very serious about this. He really wanted Ireland back. Maybe as his boyfriend, maybe as part of his kingdom. He wanted the Irishman with him again.

France opened the door wider and stepped aside to let England in. The younger nation stared at his enemy in disbelief, not completely believing that he was willing to help him.

"Come in. I'll try to help out as best as I can."


	14. Forgiveness

So, France decides to help England out. Will he leave with answers? A plan? Or will he be let down like his previous visits to other nations?

I hope you guys like this! This is really close to being finish! I think this story has only two more chapters to go before it's done! Again, I hope you enjoy everyone!

* * *

France led England into his dining room where a bottle of wine sat on the table. Beside it was a wine glass half full of wine. They both took a seat on either side of the small table.

"Wine?" France asked, nodding his head toward the wine bottle.

"No thanks." France picked up his glass, took a sip, and let it set between his fingers. Clearing his throat, he was ready to speak.

"Before I can help you, England, you must help yourself." The Brit raised an eyebrow at him in confusion, obviously not understanding the older nation.

"What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you if you answer this one question: What do you want from Ireland? Do you want his love or to have him back into the United Kingdom?"

England sat there with a thoughtful look on his face for a moment. He was like this for a few minutes before he looked up at France and gave his answer:

"I want both."

France shook his head at England then sipped some more wine.

"England, you don't even know what you want."

"Can't I have both?"

"No. Having Ireland's love means sacrificing any hope of him returning to your kingdom. Having Ireland in the United Kingdom again means sacrificing your love for him."

"How are you so sure that-"

"Think about it, England. If Ireland came back, he wouldn't just be your lover. He'd be fully acknowledged as you brother again. How do you think your brothers are going to look at that?"

"I don't care what they think about us. I was already aware that they'd have something to say about it."

"But it's not just that. I don't know if you saw it or not, but Ireland was restless in the kingdom. He was like a caged animal trying to escape."

"He really felt that way?"

"Why do you think we kept doing all those rebellions? Because we were bored?"

England looked down with a distraught look on his face. He knew Ireland was having feelings of discomfort being in the United Kingdom, and he showed it by declaring his independence. He assumed that the rebellions were an act of his people or that Ireland wanted to go against England's rules.

"If you truly loved Ireland, having him back in the United Kingdom wouldn't be on your mind. If you only wanted Ireland back into the kingdom, then you don't really love him. Do you see what I'm trying to get at now?"

England nodded his head. He really wasn't sure what he wanted anymore. Yes, he wanted Ireland's love again. That was the only thing that kept him going through the years. But he also wanted Ireland back into the United Kingdom with him and the rest of their brothers. Although, by doing so, he'd have to force Ireland to stay with him. England himself knew that Ireland wouldn't willingly come back. The Irishman would only try to rebel and leave if he ever returned.

_Nothing you do can bring me to hate you._

England continued to keep his head down, a tear trying to escape his eye. This time it succeeded and hit the table with an inaudible drip.

"It's not that I wanted to torture him," England started, his voice stable and calm, "I just wanted him to be as close to me as possible. That's why I made him join the United Kingdom. I thought he would be fine with it. I mean, he put up with me all these years without complaint so how would this be any different? Well, it looks like I was wrong."

France stayed silent as he listened to England. He took a sip of his wine as the Brit continued.

"The night he separated from me, he told me I only wanted him and North to join me because I was upset about losing America. I denied it because I didn't want to believe it was true, but it was. I lost a very dear friend, a brother. I didn't want to lose anyone else. So, I made Ireland and his brother join the United Kingdom against their will.

"North eventually got use to the idea like the rest of our brothers. But Ireland? You were right. He was restless. Always going to his fields, saying it was his job, but he stayed out there much longer than he usually did. Going to the pub every night he could, just to provide a distraction from his home life.

"He grew distant from me. We actually started to argue over the silliest things. He was acting like our brothers except he never made fun of me. We just argued.

"But, even through the arguments, the War, and the separation, I loved Ireland all the same. This only made me want to contain him even more. I thought that if I showed him the advantages of staying within the kingdom that he would be more willing to stay. In the end, he didn't want anything to do with me or the United Kingdom."

"It's not that he didn't want anything to do with you," France said in a soothing voice, "He was too overwhelmed by being there. Ireland isn't use to a more sophisticated lifestyle. He has always been the peasant farmer with his brother and he enjoyed that."

"I just thought that he'd be happier without the struggles. Especially with how his economy became after he left. I tried everything from bribing to temptation in order to have him come back. He was too stubborn. He was too self-willed.

"I thought he truly hated me. So, in return, I started to hate him as well. But I couldn't stay mad at him. Hating Ireland wasn't like how I hate you. Ireland could leave me, never speak to me again, and refuse any help I offered. But I still loved him."

"I see," France concluded, "You want Ireland's love but you're going for his heart for all the wrong reasons."

England raised his head and looked at France as he sipped his wine again.

"Then tell me what I should do. Tell me how to win Ireland back."

"All I ask out of you is to not look behind you."

"What-" Before England could turn his head, a pair of arms wrapped around his neck and another body could be felt behind him and the chair. The person's head rested on top of England's, disabling him to look up. He had an idea who it was from the pale, freckled arms.

"You already have, Deartháir Beag. You already have." Ireland kept England in his embrace as tears slipped out of his dark green eyes.

"Ireland? Where did you-"

"I came here about an hour before you arrived. I had to talk to France about the things you said yesterday. While we were talking, we heard the doorbell ring. France saw through the eyehole that it was you so he told me to hide. I was behind the curtain the whole time."

"So... you heard everything?"

"Everything."

Both of the island nations were silent for a moment. It wasn't until England let out a sniffle that the quietness of the room was disturbed. The blond-haired nation leaned his head down slightly and covered his eyes with his right hand. With the other, he placed it over Ireland's arms that covered the front of his neck.

"They were right," England quietly sobbed, "I really don't deserve you."

"Don't say such things-"

"No! It's true! How can you forgive me after everything I've done to you?" Ireland's embrace became tighter as England cried. What England couldn't tell was that Ireland was also crying very silently.

"It's strange, really. After all the things you've said and done, I'm unable to hate you. I can be so mad at you sometimes but it never lasts long. I guess that's what love does to a person."

"What?"

"I love you, Deartháir Beag. You don't even know how much."

"Are you serious?"

"As serious as I've ever been." England gripped Ireland's arm as his tears began to fall more rapidly. Ireland took England's wet hand and held it firmly, encouraging him that it was okay. This was the only motivation England needed as he tightly held onto Ireland's hand.

"I love you, Seamus. I'm so sorry..."

"Don't be." Ireland unwrapped his arms from England's neck, pulled him out of the dining chair, and turned him around to face his older brother. The red-head pulled England into a full embrace, holding onto the back of his head lovingly. England rested his head on Ireland's chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat.

"I forgive you for everything you've done, Deartháir Beag. So, please, stop crying..."

"I don't know how you could forgive me. I hurt you. I made you suffer. I put you through Hell."

"But you also gave me hope. You pulled me out of the depression I've been in since I left. Without you around, I'd be nothing."

"But-"

"Please don't try to counter me, Deartháir Beag. Just know that I love you and nothing's going to change that."

England buried his head further into Ireland's chest. He held on to his older brother tightly, gripping at the back of his green shirt. Ireland kissed the top of England's head to soothe him.

"I love you too, Seamus. Nothing will ever change how I feel about you."

"Same here, Deartháir Beag. Let's go home."

"But, everyone still thinks we're-"

"There's plenty of time for explanations. We're both still healing."

"You're right."

They let go for a moment to wipe away their tears and turn their attention to the only other nation in the room. France was still sipping his wine, watching them as if they were entertainers.

"Thank you, France, for helping me clear this up," England said slowly.

"No problem. If you two need anything, you know where to find me."

"I think we'll be okay," Ireland said, his cheerful smile back on his face.

"If you have any questions dealing with the bedroom, feel free to ask."

England was about to make a snad remark, but Ireland put his hand over his mouth to quiet him.

"Don't worry, France. If we have any problems, we'll ask." France only chuckled as the two began leaving.

* * *

Back at Ireland's house, the red-head busied himself with preparing tea for them. Ireland preferred alcohol and coffee over tea but that didn't mean he found it unbearable.

England sat in the living room and waited for Ireland to finish making the tea. He was starting to feel a little better being in Ireland's house again. He was hoping that things would eventually go back to normal. Maybe, after the whole misunderstanding is cleared up, they'll be able to become public with their relationship.

"I never told you, did I?"

England looked up at the kitchen door to see Ireland standing by it. Ireland walked over to the couch and sat next to England.

"Told me what?"

"Why I left."

"You don't need to tell me that. It was for your own reasons anyway."

"But I want to. I think you deserve to know." Ireland took both of England's hands into his, wrapping his fingers around them. The Englishman's hands were warm but not in an uncomfortable way.

"I didn't leave because I hated being with you. I wanted to prove to you that I was strong enough on my own."

"That's why?"

"Yes. But, I guess it didn't work out like I planned. With North still in the United Kingdom and refusing your help, it didn't leave me with very good options."

"I can't believe I was so blind. All those years, you were really trying to prove yourself, and I thought you were suffering."

"Things are better now."

"No they're not. Your economy is still pretty bad."

"But we're fine. Isn't that what truly matters?" England stared up at the Irish nation and smiled.

"I guess it does."

Ireland brought England's hands to his lips and kissed each finger before kissing him on the lips. It was more than a peck but still too short for England's liking. As Ireland pulled away, England pulled Ireland's head back for a longer deeper kiss. Ireland took the hint and wrapped his arms around England's waist, pulling him even closer to him. If it weren't for the squealing of the pot on the stove, they would've stayed like this for much longer.


	15. One Wonderful Night

The two are finally back together, almost everyone approves of their relationship, and the other nations have decided to take them out for drinks. What could possibly go wrong? Just joking. There's no more sad stuff after this. Just more moments of the two being happy together.

**WARNING:** This chapter contains a lemon along with strong incest relations. If you don't like that stuff, skip down to where it ends, or don't read this. I'm going to apologize about this to get it out of the way: if the translations are wrong, I'm really sorry.

Enjoy the chapter everyone! Just one more to go and then it's complete!

* * *

A few weeks later, Ireland and England found themselves in one of their favourite pubs. They weren't the only nations there, though. America, France, Prussia, Spain, Germany, Italy, Romano, and Russia were at the pub as well.

After they both explained to everyone that they were still together and that the fight was settled, America decided to celebrate their success of coming out to the world. Much to Ireland's satisfaction, everyone seemed to be okay with them dating even though they're brothers.

Speaking of brothers, their siblings had a few things to say about their relationship. Scotland admitted that he thought there was something suspicious about Ireland's calls. Wales said that England's constant leaving gave him the idea that something was up. Northern Ireland was aware that something was going on by Ireland's sudden change.

There was an argument between England and Scotland, and a discussion was held between Wales and Ireland. Ireland explained that he kept it a secret from them specifically because he was worried about what they would say. Wales appreciated his honesty and understood why he was scared. Nonetheless, he accepted their relationship, despite his own feelings towards England. Scotland came around to accepting it, only because it made Ireland happy. Northern Ireland wasn't ready to accept Ireland yet so he was against their relationship. Wales told Ireland that his twin will need time to adjust to this. He'll eventually grow to accept Ireland and the relationship with time.

Most of the world gradually accepted their relationship. There were a few nations that thought it was wrong or it wouldn't last long. Ireland was glad that no one thought his fight for independence was a waste because of this. England was happy that everyone got over the misunderstanding and didn't hold it against him. More importantly, they were both glad to be out in the open instead of hiding from everyone. The two realized that this was much easier.

"A toast to the happy couple!" America declared throughout the pub. Everyone held up their glasses and toasted to Ireland and England. The island nations sat at their table and smiled at the other countries in the room. They each had a drink near them; a glass of rum for England and a glass of whisky for Ireland.

"This was awfully nice of them, wasn't it?" Ireland asked.

"Inviting us out for drinks is one thing. But paying for our drinks? That's really generous." England raised his glass but wasn't able to touch it with his lips when it was taken from him. He watched as Ireland chugged down his rum before setting the glass down in front of England.

"Seamus," England said with a perplexed look, "Why did you do that?"

Ireland leaned across the table until his face was inches away from England's.

"I want you to be sober tonight," Ireland whispered.

"Why?" England lowered his voice.

"There's... something I want us to do... But only if you want to..." The sudden blush in Ireland's cheeks instantly made England understand what he was saying. His cheeks soon flared up in a deep red blush, making Ireland grow a little worried.

"I'm sorry. Is it too soon?"

"No... It's fine... I was going to ask what your thoughts on... that was..."

"Are you sure you're okay with this?"

"Yes." England reached across the table and held Ireland's hand in his. "I'm okay as long as it's with you." This brought a smile to Ireland's face as he closed the gap between them.

"Sharing secrets, are we? Ohonhonhonhonhon!" Ireland and England tore away as France continued laughing.

"Sh-Shut up you bloody git!"

"Calm down, Deartháir Beag. He was only joking."

"But really, Seamus, I'm glad you've finally found someone. You seem a lot happier than you've ever been." Ireland smiled warmly as France turned his attention toward England. "England, don't do anything to hurt him. I promise there may be another 100 Years War if Ireland comes crying to my door because he's upset."

"Don't worry, Francis. If my deartháir beag does anything, you'll be the first to know."

"That's good."

A few hours and many whisky glasses later, Ireland and England were headed out the door. They told the other nations that they had things to do the next day, so they couldn't stay out as late as they wish. A few perverted minded countries took this opportunity to give the couple wolf whistles and cat calls. Some nations that weren't too drunk tried to either coax them into staying or wishing them good luck in returning home safely. The two island nations were able to eventually leave the pub without too many complications. At least to their knowing.

"Are they gone?" Prussia slurred as he scanned the bar for the familiar red-head and his messy-haired little brother.

"They're gone," France said, staring at the door the two exited, "And I think they're going somewhere much more exciting."

"Whatever." Prussia took a gulp of his beer before fishing out a few photographs from his coat pocket. "Who wants to see Seamus in a skirt?!"

* * *

Ireland unlocked his front door, led England inside, and locked it up. They both took their shoes off at the door but England was the only one who removed his socks.

"You're not taking off your socks?" England inquired at the black and green striped fabric.

"They're my lucky socks," Ireland explained, "I might need it tonight."

"But you're the country of good luck."

"I have moments of insecurity too, Deartháir Beag."

The whole house was dark yet the nations were able to find their way to Ireland's bedroom. England laid on the green coverlet with Ireland following after him, propping himself on his elbows so he wouldn't make England uncomfortable. Ireland leaned down and kissed England deeply and passionately on the lips. The blond pushed his hands through the red hair to deepen their kiss. His fingers ran through uneven locks and wild strands. He had never felt anything more lovely than this.

Ireland nibbled at England's bottom lip, receiving an opened mouth in return. England's reward was Ireland's warm hot tongue entering his mouth. Their tongues soon met and began a familiar dance that they've rehearsed many times. This time, when a moan escaped England's lips, Ireland didn't stop but went further.

The Irishman's pale fingers went down to the hem of England's sweater vest. He tugged at it to signal that he was going to remove it. England let out another moan, allowing Ireland to pull the vest over England's head and separate them for a short while. When their lips connected again, Ireland busied himself with unbuttoning the dress shirt. He never fancied wearing dressy clothes but he did love to see England looking so formal.

Ireland was halfway done with England's shirt when the British nation did something very good to Ireland. As England moved his hands over to cup Ireland's face, his thumb brushed up against Ireland's left cheek above the group of freckles. This one spot on his face was very significant. Just like Italy and Romano's strange hair curls.

Ireland grunted deeply and bucked his hips, rubbing up against England's crotch. This reaction caused England to suddenly gasp out a moan and push his hips up against Ireland's, wanting to restore that friction.

They had to pull away for a moment to breathe. They may be nations, but they can become breathless from a French kiss. As they were regaining their lost breath, England kept rubbing up against Ireland as his older brother finished unbuttoning his shirt.

"Deartháir Beag," Ireland grunted out in arousal, "Touch my cheek again." He pointed at the left side of his face to make sure England knew where to touch.

"Why?" England moaned very softly.

"That's my erogenous zone."

"You mean like Italy's curl?"

"Yes. Exactly."

"So, you'll be aroused if I..." England leaned up, cupped Ireland's face, and licked at the freckles on his left cheek. Ireland let out another deep groan and bucked his hips roughly at England's growing erection. England let out a loud moan and wrapped his arms around Ireland. The older nation placed his hands on England's back and pressed him closer to himself. He began kissing England's neck, nibbling and licking at the spots that made England shutter and moan. When Ireland was done exploring the Brit's neck, love bites littered the skin.

Ireland slipped the rest of England's shirt off and tossed it to the floor. After putting his glasses on the night stand next to them he then sat up, bearly brushing up against the tent in his little brother's pants, and raised his shirt. In the moonlight, as Ireland's shirt exposed more skin, England couldn't help but look at the pale chest. Ireland remained to stay pale and his chest still look as smooth as ever. That flat chest, his slender figure, the scar that almost went unnoticed.

England looked at the white scar that almost blended into Ireland's skin. He remembered that mark. He had visited Ireland as he was recovering from their final battle. The Irishman's leg was in bandages and, just below the sheets that covered his lower body, his side had bandages covering up bloody gauze. England couldn't look at the wound in Ireland's side. He couldn't believe he actually shot his brother the night before and he was still recovering from the wounds. All England could say was that he was sorry for almost breaking Ireland's leg. He didn't think Ireland could forgive him for shooting him there. He was still coughing up blood from being hit in a vital spot.

"Deartháir Beag?" Ireland said once his shirt was removed, "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

England hid his face as the tears began to fall. Ireland took his hands and moved them away from his face. England still cried as Ireland looked at him with concern in his eyes. Finally, he spoke.

"How could you forgive me after that?" England rubbed at Ireland's scar, feeling the sinking of the white skin that once held a bullet. His bullet. From his rifle. Ireland rubbed England's fingers and pulled them away from his side. He held his hand in his and kissed his fingers before wrapping his own fingers around them.

"Deartháir Beag, I already told you I forgive you."

"But I went too far that time. I didn't even do this to America."

"It was an accident. No one could control themselves at that time."

"It shouldn't have happened. I'm so sorry, Seamus."

"Deartháir Beag..." Ireland licked away England's tears and kissed his eyelids, eyebrows, forehead, cheeks, and then his lips. "Shhhhh..." he whispered in England's ear, "Just know that I forgive you and I love you dearly. Can you do that for me?"

"I love you so much, Seamus."

They kissed again, more loving and heartfelt than they've ever kissed. Ireland's hands traveled down England's smooth chest, stopping at his nipples. Ireland pinched at the nipples, earning a slight yelp in pain from his brother. It was soon followed by a moan as Ireland's pinches turned to rubbing and soft twisting.

Ireland broke away to kiss down England's jaw, neck, and chest, only to stop at his left nipple. Ireland continued to play with the right nipple as his tongue found its way to the left. He licked at the pink nub, greatly enjoying the sounds coming from the Englishman. He nibbled and sucked the perk bud for a moment longer before releasing it. He kissed further down England's torso until he was facing the beginning of his pants.

"Are you sure you want this, Deartháir Beag?"

"Please, don't stop now, Seamus. I'm so turned on."

"I was only making sure." Ireland unbuttoned England's pants and slipped them off his legs along with his boxers. England's hardened member stood proudly in front of Ireland's face. Little beads of precum were starting to slide out of the head of his penis.

It wasn't the first time Ireland saw his little brother's manhood. Of course, that was a long time ago when they were still children. He and his brothers would all bathe in a stream together, not caring about seeing each other's nether regions. He knew England's member had changed since then but he wasn't sure by how much.

Ireland rose off the bed, unbuttoned his shorts, and slid them off with his boxers. Ireland wasn't sure how England would react to seeing his parts. Ireland knew that he definitely changed since childhood.

"Oh my..." England stared at Ireland's crotch as a blush crept boldly onto his face.

"What is it?"

"You're... big..." Ireland was a country based off agriculture. There was only one thing that represented that and it wasn't quite obvious like Ukraine's breasts.

"Is that okay...?"

"That's really okay..." England's blush became darker as he said this. Ireland sat down on his bed and gave England an unsure look. England stared back in wonder, puzzled as to what was worrying his brother.

"Deartháir Beag. I know this isn't your first time."

"And?"

"... It is for me."

"That's okay. I'm sure you'll do fine."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You'll get better with a lot of practice." Ireland's cheeks went red at the statement, making England grow maroon with embarrassment. "I-I-I didn't mean-" Ireland rubbed the Brit's inner thigh very softly, causing a gasp to come out of his mouth.

"You're so cute when you blush, Deartháir Beag..." Ireland lowered his head down to England's erection as the precum continued to slip out slowly. He gripped the hardened member and began stroking it in slow, even motions. He licked up the precum before slowly putting the head into his mouth. England's moaning motivated Ireland to suck harder, his tongue insistently going over the little slit rapidly.

Ireland stroked the shaft a little faster while sucking harder on the head. He looked up at England's face to see the most arousing sight. England's eyes were almost closed with blissful tears brimming at the corners. His mouth was opened wide as loud moans spilled out. His cheeks were bright red from what bit of blood didn't go further south.

Ireland put more of England's penis into his mouth. He used his fingers to rub the shaft, becoming quicker in his strokes. His tongue teased the organ as it slithered around the shaft and rubbed up against the head, purposely. Ireland could feel his brother's manhood pulse and twitch in his mouth as it became more and more aroused.

Finally, Ireland had the whole penis in his mouth, sucking and teasing it with his tongue. England bucked into Ireland's mouth, almost causing him to choke on the erect member. To ensure this wouldn't happen again, Ireland held down England's thighs. But, to both make him suffer and pleasure him, Ireland began bobbing his head up and down the penis.

England's loud moans excited Ireland. He couldn't believe how much pleasure he was putting him through. He also couldn't believe how hard he was getting from hearing England's moans.

"Seamus! I'm gonna... Cu-ahhhh!" Before the Irish nation could fully comprehend what he said, the Englishman came into his mouth. He almost spit some of it out since he wasn't fully expecting the reaction. Still, he managed to keep it in his mouth and swallowed the white sperm. Once he was done, he cleaned England's penis of his own juices.

Ireland rose from his spot in between England's legs to kiss him on the lips. He boldly pushed his tongue inside of England's mouth so that he too could taste himself. England moaned into Ireland's mouth, enjoying that Ireland was not a clueless virgin. He could only guess which perverted nation filled him with such information.

They broke away once more with their saliva connecting them for a moment. England's panting figure almost didn't notice Ireland's right hand grow closer to his face. The fingers extended to his mouth but stopped inches before the lips panting out soft, warm breaths. Instantly, England knew what Ireland was going to do. He softly gripped the Irishman's wrist and slowly put the fingers into his mouth. His tongue glided over them, coating the digits in warm, thick saliva. While he did this, England looked at Ireland with pleasure in his bright green eyes. This made Ireland blush and become even more aroused.

Ireland slowly slipped his fingers out, reluctant to keep them in and continue enjoying England's tongue sliding over them. He knew he had to take them out soon. The best part about tonight was about to commence.

Ireland's hand immediately went down to England's butt, where his entrance awaited the soaked fingers. He teased England's hole for a moment, enjoying the sight of England squirming for more. He didn't want to torture him for too long and gave him what he wanted. He pressed the first finger in, pushing it in and out slowly in case he was hurting England. He was pretty tight despite having done this before.

"Deartháir Beag, you're so tight."

"It's... been awhile... since I last did this..." A moan slipped out, signaling Ireland to go a little faster. As he quickened his fingering, he noticed England scrunch his face up in mild pain. His soft moans made him continue his fingering.

Ireland decided to insert another finger, slowly stretching England's entrance in a scissoring motion. England's face again contorted in slight pain as he did this.

"Is this hurting you, Deartháir Beag? If it is, I'll slow down."

"You're fine, Seamus... I'm just not as use to it as I was years ago..."

"Still, I'm trying to be as gentle as possible to you."

"It's all right if it hurts a little bit..." England reached up to Ireland's face and brushed his thumb across the freckles. Ireland's hand suddenly jerked forward and his fingers hit something inside of England that made him scream.

"Oh my god! Did I hurt you? Are you all right?"

"Yeeesssssss! Do that again!" Ireland, not understanding why he wanted this, did as he brother asked. He pushed his fingers roughly towards that spot he hit, and heard another loud scream from England. That's when Ireland realized that that wasn't a scream of pain but of pleasure.

_So that's the sensitive spot France kept talking about_, Ireland thought to himself as he pushed a third finger in. England's pleasured screams filled the room as Ireland continued to finger and stretch his hole. By the time he pulled out his fingers, he was already so aroused he couldn't stand it.

Ireland raised England's legs before spitting into his hand to coat his own aching member in saliva. He placed the head of his penis at the entrance and leaned down to England's face.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes. Put it in, Seamus." Ireland thrust forward, pushing the head into England. England arched his back at the new sensation. It really had been a long time.

Ireland pushed himself in little by little until he was all the way in. England's walls tightened around him, trying to get use to the object inside it. Ireland waited until the Englishman was use to it before continuing. He was going to treat this like England's first time.

"Seamus... Please move..."

"Are you use to it?"

"Yeeesssssss..." Ireland slowly moved and started a rhythm a slow thrusting. He was glad to see that England was in less pain than he expected. It made the night just as wonderful as his thrusts became faster and quicker. England had wrapped his arms around Ireland's neck and his legs around the Irishman's waist by this time. They were tightly coiled in each other's bodies as Ireland made sweet, forbidden love with his youngest brother.

When England shouted Ireland's name at the top of his lungs, he knew what was about to happen. He thrusted roughly into England as he came underneath him, his seman landing on their stomachs and chests. England's walls tightened around Ireland's penis as a natural reaction. Ireland came deep inside of England, the blond beneath him moaning out the Irishman's name loudly.

Ireland pulled out of England, his seed leaking out of the Englishman's entrance. They were both panting as they laid there on Ireland's bed, staring at the ceiling. After several minutes of semi-silence, Ireland turned his head towards England. The blond's cheeks were still red, his hair stuck to his face with sweat, and his tired eyes were still halfway shut.

"I love you, Deartháir Beag." England looked over at Ireland. The red-head's long bangs spread across part of his face while the rest went across his pillow, and his chest had regained its steady rising and falling action. England reached for Ireland's hand and intertwined their fingers together.

"I love you too, Seamus." Ireland squeezed England's hand, rubbing the skin with his thumb in smooth circles.

"We should go to bed," Ireland said as England yawned. He pulled the sheets and blankets up and covered England and himself in the green fabric. England snuggled up to Ireland and wrapped his arms around him securely. Ireland returned the gesture and embraced England affectionately. Before concentrating on sleep, Ireland kissed England's forehead in a silent "goodnight."

"Seamus," England whispered as if someone else could hear them.

"Yes, Deartháir Beag?"

"Will you sing me to sleep?"

"You mean like a lullaby?"

"Yeah. The ones you use to sing to me when we were little."

"Which one do you want me to sing?"

"You choose. I don't have a favourite." It was also because England didn't know the words to Ireland's lullabies. He always sang them in his native language so it was hard for England to remember which song was which.

"An chuid eile súile tuirseach ar feadh tamaill  
Is é Sweet thy leanbh aoibh gháire  
Angels atá falsaithe agus é ag breathnú siad o'er dhuit.

"Codladh, codladh, grah mo chree  
Anseo ar tú glúine Mhamai ar  
Angels atá gardála  
Agus é ag breathnú siad o'er dhuit.

"Canann na Dúchas amhrán Cuislín  
Ceolann siad chun dhuit an lá ar fad fada  
Wee sióga damhsa o'er cnoc agus Dale  
Chun grá an-thee.

"Dream, Dream, grah mo chree  
Seo ar glúine do Mamma ar  
Angels atá falsaithe agus é ag breathnú siad o'er dhuit  
Mar a d'fhéadfadh tú a chodladh Angels féachaint thar  
Agus féadfaidh siad garda o'er leat.

"An sabhaircín i nook foscadh  
An sruth criostail an loimpre babbling  
Gach na rudaí lámha Dé atá déanta  
Chun grá an-thee.

"Twilight agus scáthanna titim  
Síochána chun a chuid páistí go léir  
Angels atá falsaithe agus é ag breathnú siad o'er dhuit  
Mar tú codladh  
Bealtaine Angels féachaint thar Bealtaine agus an garda o'er dhuit..."

England was soon fast asleep listening to Ireland's soft, quiet voice. Ireland smiled at the sleeping blond as the moonlight shined upon his face. He was so peaceful when he slept. He seemed so carefree and undisturbed unlike when he was awake. Ireland kissed his forehead once more before resting his head against England's. For once, in a long time, he was able to quickly doze off to sleep and head into dreamland.

* * *

Translations to Ireland's lullaby to England (**Ballyeamon Cradle Song**):

Rest tired eyes a while

Sweet is thy baby's smile

Angels are guarding and they watch o'er thee

Sleep, sleep, grah mo chree (T: Sweetheart)

Here on your mamma's knee

Angels are guarding

And they watch o'er thee

The birdeens sing a fluting song

They sing to thee the whole day long

Wee fairies dance o'er hill and dale

For very love of thee

Dream, Dream, grah mo chree

Here on your Mamma's knee

Angels are guarding and they watch o'er thee

As you sleep may Angels watch over

And may they guard o'er thee.

The primrose in the sheltered nook

The crystal stream the babbling brook

All these things God's hands have made

For very love of thee

Twilight and shadows fall

Peace to His children all

Angels are guarding and they watch o'er thee

As you sleep

May Angels watch over and May they guard o'er thee

**NOTE:** I'm not sure if these are the exact lyrics or not. I also realize that this lullaby was probably created a bit after Ireland and England were children. Maybe when they were older. Also, I'm sorry if the translations are incorrect. I use Google Translate which, as you'll come to realize, is quite inaccurate.


	16. Tattoos and Roleplay

The morning after the two nations' great night, they wake up in each other's arms. But, Ireland notices something about England that he was never informed about. Perhaps he has been away from the United Kingdom a bit too long. Then, several weeks later, the two decide to get a little kinky.

**WARNING:** Kinky lemon and strong incest themes ahead! If you're not into that, then skip the lemon when it comes!

I thank the readers who have been with me through the whole story! I hope you enjoy this final chapter!

* * *

Ireland awoke the next morning to see England still snuggled up beside him. This brought a smile to his face once he noticed that England was still asleep. At that moment, Ireland remembered the previous night and what he and his little brother ended up doing. The Irishman blushed, wondering for a moment if it was all a dream. However, the strange white stain on his green coverlet was enough proof that it wasn't a dream.

_Wow... I can't believe we actually did it..._ Ireland blushed a little more as he began to remember more of that night.

England shifted beside him and let out a tired moan. His eyes slowly opened as his vision adjusted to the bright room. Through the blinds, he could see that the sun was out, providing to the brightness of the room.

For a moment, England forgot where he was. He instantly remembered he was in Ireland's room after seeing the red-head's arms around him, and the green covers over the bed.

"Good morning, Deartháir Beag," Ireland greeted him softly as he kissed England lightly on the forehead. England pulled Ireland's face down into a warm kiss.

"Good morning, Seamus."

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes. I slept fine. And yourself?"

"Better than I have in a while."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I use to have nightmares all the time after... after I split away from you."

"What were they about?"

"It always started off with me behind that tree, trying to recover from being shot in the foot."

"I'm sorry."

"I told you to not worry about that, Deartháir Beag. But then I would hear footsteps coming near the tree. I always thought it was one of our soldiers. No matter how many times I had the dream, I kept thinking it was another soldier. So, I got up as quietly as I could, prepared myself for combat, and jumped out to shoot. Of course, we know the result of that.

"And then we were talking with our guns pointed at each other. Eventually we started arguing and yelling the most hateful things at each other. I ended up pulling your rifle to my face, asking you to shoot me. You wouldn't do it so I tried to coax you into it. Finally, I got you mad enough to do something. That's when you shot me."

"I shot you in the face?"

"Yeah. But I think you regretted it. You were crying even though you looked mad." Through Ireland's explanation, England laid there and paid close attention as if this were an interesting story.

"That really is a horrible dream."

"The funny thing is that I haven't had that dream ever since I started a relationship with you."

"Really?"

"Yes. They would come up a few times but they don't appear anymore."

England gave him a small smile as Ireland leaned down to kiss him. Moving his face only an inch away from England's, Ireland said in a low voice, "I have you to thank for that." England blushed lightly before turning away. Ireland chuckled at his youngest brother's embarrassment.

"We should get dressed and have breakfast," England muttered as he sat up.

"Sure, Deartháir Beag. I'll even let you-" Ireland stopped himself once he saw England's back. Or rather what was on his back. On his right shoulder-blade, as clear as day, was the image of a guitar.

Ireland wasn't exactly there during England's punk days. He saw him in the streets every once in a while wearing tight or ripped jeans, and band T-shirts, but that was it. He heard from Scotland and France that England started playing guitar. No one ever told him his little brother had a tattoo.

"Deartháir Beag?" England turned around to see Ireland raise an eyebrow at him.

"Yes?"

"What is that?"

"What's what?"

"On your back." England turned his neck to either side to see what Ireland was looking at. Once he saw part of the body art, his eyes widened and he blushed a little more. He turned around to face Ireland, not sure how the red-head would react. The man looked calm but he was also good at hiding his real feelings.

"Ummmm, it's a tattoo..."

"When did you get it?"

"A few years ago..."

"Why?"

"You're not mad, are you?"

"No. I just want to know why you have a tattoo."

"Are you sure?"

"England, if I were mad at you, I'd be yelling at you right now."

"All right. I thought it would be cool."

"And?"

"'And' what?"

"Do you still think it's cool?"

"Well, what do you think about it?"

"I guess it's nice. I'm not sure why you wanted a guitar but it looks really nice."

"It's the guitar I have. Maybe I could play it for you some time?"

"That would be nice. Come on. Let's have breakfast."

"What were you going to say before you saw my tattoo?"

"I was trying to say 'I'll even let you cook.'" England smiled at this as he pulled on his dress shirt. He knew Ireland didn't think his cooking was the best, but he was glad that he encouraged him to make something. That's all he needed to be happy.

* * *

A month later, Ireland was visiting England again. Now that their relationship was out in the open, they freely went to each other's houses to visit. Sometimes their brothers would be around when Ireland came over, other times not. This was one of those times when the rest of the British Aisles were nowhere to be found in the house. This was just how they liked it.

The two island nations were relaxing in the living room, watching tv to pass the time. As their show went to a commercial break, England decided to make some tea. Ireland sat on the couch and watched the advertisements as he waited for his brother to finish the tea.

Suddenly, there was a crash and some cursing from the kitchen. Ireland rose from his seat and walked toward the kitchen door to see what happened. Pushing back the door, he saw England wiping up water from the floor. His dress shirt was wet and the kettle it came from was sitting on the counter above him.

"Are you okay, Deartháir Beag?"

"No! The bloody kettle slipped and I got water all over my shirt!"

"Do you want me to help in any way?"

"You could get me a clean shirt."

"All right. I'll be back shortly."

Ireland left the kitchen and went upstairs to England's bedroom. He opened his closet door and pulled out a random shirt. It was white like the one England had on right now. Ireland assumed that the Englishman wasn't picky since he just needed a clean shirt.

Ireland was about to shut the door when he noticed something on the left wall. It looked like another door but smaller and in the shape of a square. Curiosity struck the Irishman as he set the shirt on England's bed and peered at the secret door.

_I wonder if this is another spot for his rituals,_ Ireland wondered as he turned the small knob. _Or maybe he hides things in here._

Opening the door, Ireland saw nothing but a box inside. It was a regular cardboard box that was slightly worn from years of sitting in the tiny room. Ireland pulled it out to see what the contents held inside. He pulled out a hat that he immediately recognized from England's pirate days. Under that was the matching coat, shirt, and trousers.

_He still kept these?_ Ireland wasn't sure why he was surprised. Maybe because when England's pirate phase was over, he swore to be a proper gentleman. He obviously still had his moments.

The next thing he pulled out was a police officer's hat. Under that was the uniform that went with it. Ireland wasn't sure why his youngest brother had this. He never did anything that involved the police or being a part of a squad. It was when Ireland looked further down into the box that he found the answer to that. There were handcuffs, mouth gags, whips, paddles, and a variety of other sex toys at the bottom of the box. Ireland wasn't sure whether he wanted to be scared, surprised, or shocked. He was not expecting this out of England.

An idea came to his mind as he was surveying the different sex toys. He put everything back except for the police uniform, and the handcuffs. He put the uniform on the bed and took the dress shirt, hat, and handcuffs with him.

Ireland kept the hat and handcuffs behind his back as he descended the stairs, and went into the living room. England wasn't there so Ireland put the hat on and sat in the arm chair. This way, his back was to the kitchen door and England would have to come to the chair to see him. The Irishman chuckled at his devious plan.

"Deartháir Beag! I'm back with your shirt!"

"That took a little longer than expected!"

"I was taking my time! I'm sorry!"

"Well, bring it here!"

"Come into the living room!"

"Why?"

"Just do it!"

The kitchen door opened as Ireland chuckled under his breath. England looked a little annoyed. He wasn't in the mood for any of Ireland's games.

"Why the bloody hell couldn't you bring it into the kitchen? Why are you asking me to come into-" By then, England had walked into the living room and was in front of the arm-chair. He saw Ireland wearing the police hat, his legs crossed, and spinning the handcuffs in his fingers. He wore a mischievous smirk on his face that was on the verge of being seductive.

"So, what has this naughty boy been up to all these years?" Ireland asked, trying to sound seductive. England blushed madly as he realized what was distracting Ireland.

"You... My box... My things... Why... How did you..."

"I saw the door and thought I'd take a look. There were some interesting finds."

"Oh, god. This is embarrassing."

"How?"

"You weren't suppose to find those. No one was suppose to. That's why it was in my closet. That's why there's a hidden door in there."

"But what's the point in having these things if you're not going to use them?"

"I use them!"

"Even the sex toys?"

"... Some of them..." Ireland stood up and put the hat on England.

"Deartháir Beag, there's one thing I learned from France and that's to be open about things in a relationship."

"I'm surprised he didn't tell you something perverted."

"He also told me to share your perversions with your partner. The point is, you shouldn't be ashamed of these things now that we're together."

"But you must think I'm some kind of pervert now."

"Trust me, Deartháir Beag. I don't think that of you. There are... far worse people out there than you. Far worse..."

"Do you... want us to roleplay... or something...?"

"Your uniform's upstairs."

"Maybe France did rub off on you."

"We're all perverted on some level, Deartháir Beag."

"Let me guess. He taught you that, too?"

"... Yes."

"You really should stop listening to him."

"He's my best friend. How could I not?"

England walked upstairs with his shirt, hat, and handcuffs. A blush was still on his face as he disappeared up the stairs away from Ireland. The Irish nation chuckled to himself as he realized what he was getting himself into.

A few moments later, England came back down wearing the full uniform. Ireland wasn't going to deny that seeing England dressed like that turned him on. He tried to hide his slight boner by tightly crossing his legs.

"I'm just going to warn you, I won't go half-assed on this," England said. He had a serious look on his face as he told this to Ireland.

"That's just fine, Deartháir Beag. I don't mind."

"Good." England grabbed Ireland by the shirt and pulled him out of the chair. He could see Ireland's growing erection through his shorts. "Because I've had a lot of practice. And it appears..." England reached down and grabbed Ireland's erection. The red-head let out a soft moan, surprised at how straight forward England became. "... You've made a violation."

"Don't you think you're the one violating?"

"Excuse me? Are you smarting off at an officer?"

"No, sir. I'm sorry."

"Now, if we can take this somewhere more... private... I'm sure we can get this over with without any complications." England pulled Ireland toward the stairs, holding onto his wrist securely.

"What exactly am I being arrested for, officer?"

"Indecent exposure."

"But, sir! There must be some mistake!"

"Really? I have a very reliable source that told me you exposed yourself provocatively to some women."

"That proves I'm innocent! I would only expose myself to a man!" England stopped as they were halfway up the stairs. He looked at Ireland and gave him a sly grin.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. I mean, no. I mean-"

"You'll have plenty of time to think about that once you're in your cozy little cell." England pulled Ireland further up the stairs and walked toward the direction of his room.

"But officer! I can't go to jail! My boss will kill me!"

"You should've thought about that before you showed off your prick to a bunch of men." They made it to England's bedroom and entered the room. Once inside, Ireland gave England a pleading look.

"Please, officer! There must be something I can do other than going to jail!"

"Are you trying to bribe me?"

"Maybe."

"You really don't want to go to jail, do you?"

"I'm willing to do anything to avoid that."

"Anything?"

"Anything." England gave Ireland another sly grin before walking over to the door, and locking it. He didn't want their brothers to interrupt if they came home in the middle of their fun.

England walked over to Ireland and gave his clothed erection a teasing poke. Ireland groaned out again but tried to keep it quiet. It was hard for him to keep control with England being the dominant one.

"So what do you have in mind?" England let out a low chuckle as he noticed Ireland's light blush.

"Sit down and I'll show you," Ireland replied, finally gaining his composure. England sat on his bed and crossed his legs while Ireland kneeled down before him.

"You'll have to uncross your legs, sir." England did as he was told and placed both legs a few inches apart, his feet planted firmly on the ground. Ireland held the Brit's knees and pulled his legs apart.

"What are you doing?" England didn't sound surprised or angry, but suggestive. He was fitting his role pretty well from what Ireland could tell. The Irish nation looked up at his little brother with excitement and arousal in his eyes.

"I need room for what I'm about to do." Ireland began to unzip England's pants and pulled them down low enough to pull out his semi-hard member.

"I don't think it's in the condition for what you're planning to do."

"I can fix that." Ireland kissed along England's length, earning small gasps and moans from the British nation. He started to kiss the underside of England's penis, going from the head to the base. He found himself at the blond's testicles and decided to kiss the sensitive organs. England's moans grew slightly louder, urging Ireland to lick his brother's balls. This really made the island nation moan as he tried his best to keep them low.

Out of pure arousal, England pushed the back of Ireland's head further into his crotch to feel more of Ireland's tongue. Ireland instead put one of his nuts into his mouth, sucking and teasing the organ with his tongue. England let out more moans, not bothering to control them anymore. He was too aroused to keep up the dominant cop act.

England was about to press Ireland's head closer to him when the red-head released the testicle. He licked from the base to the head of the underside of England's penis. His manhood was hard enough for Ireland to blow him.

The Irish nation licked up the precum forming from England's head while stroking his shaft. England's moans grew louder as Ireland's tongue trailed over his sensitive head. Wanting to hear more from his brother, Ireland put more of England's manhood into his mouth. He got what he wanted when the Brit's moans grew increasingly louder.

"More..." England grunted in an attempt to stay dominant. Ireland happily complied by putting more into his mouth. He began to run his tongue up, down, and around the shaft, abandoning the use of his hand as the space between his lips and the base were getting shorter.

Wanting to hear his little brother scream, Ireland decided to bob his head while his tongue still played with the organ. Before England could buck his hips, Ireland held down his thighs. England arched his back and let out the loudest moans Ireland has ever heard. He bobbed his head faster until he felt England push his head forward, where the Irishman's lips met with the Brit's base and pubic hair. Seman rushed down Ireland's throat as England came long and hard into his mouth.

Swallowing the last bit of England's insides, Ireland slowly released his brother's penis and looked up at him. England was panting softly with a light blush across his face. Ireland always loved seeing him like this.

"That was pretty good," England panted out, still trying to sound dominant, "But that doesn't tell me why I should let you go."

"What will convince you then, officer?"

England pulled Ireland up then pushed him onto the bed. He forced the Irishman's hands above his head and quickly handcuffed him to the bed. Ireland blushed as he looked up at his brother's smirking face. England got off the bed for a moment to remove his pants before returning, sitting on top of Ireland's pelvis.

"If you let me do as I please, I'll think about letting you off with a warning."

"Tell me, officer, are you going to commit a bigger violation than what I've done?"

"I think you've already created a violation." England rubbed up against Ireland's growing erection, making the red-head blush harder. "One that I can take care of."

England crawled down to Ireland's shorts and began to unzip them. He pulled them off with Ireland's boxers and threw them on the floor with his pants. Ireland's erection stood before him proudly with a few beads of precum falling out of the slit on his head.

England leaned down to Ireland's penis and, with his gloved hand, rubbed the head with his finger. Ireland let out a soft moan as his swollen organ was being touched in such a teasing way.

"My, my. This truly is a _big_ violation." England emphasized the word "big" as he pressed down lightly onto Ireland's head. The red-head bit his lip while choking out a moan. Ireland couldn't believe how turned on he was by this.

England brought his gloved finger with the bit of precum to his lips and licked it. Ireland's blush grew darker and his member twitched. England noticed this and smirked even more.

"That turns you on, does it? We'll have to fix that, won't we?" England gripped Ireland's penis and took the head into his mouth. Ireland tried to keep his moans silent. England's motive was to make Ireland scream like he did moments ago. Ireland, though, was determined to not give him the satisfaction of hearing him vocalize his pleasure.

England took his time sucking the head while stroking the shaft. He wasn't getting anything out of Ireland except low moans out of pleasure. He sped up his hand and gripped the hardened member firmer but not to the point where it hurt Ireland. While doing this, he concentrated on licking at the slit where more precum was developing from. Ireland did his best to stifle his moans, resulting in having a darker blush than England's.

After not hearing much out of Ireland, England decided to try one last thing. He put a little more of Ireland's manhood into his mouth and let out a deep moan. The moan sent vibrations through Ireland's penis, sending pleasured shivers up his spine. The Irish nation bit down on his lip while letting out a more noticeable moan. It was a little better than before, but England was still disappointed. He was hoping that this would do the trick.

Before England realized it, Ireland came into his mouth. He let out a grunt as he emptied himself into England's mouth. The Brit swallowed the last of Ireland's seman before slipping his mouth off of him. He looked up at Ireland as he licked his lips clean, making Ireland blush harder. His penis, still slightly hard, twitched as he watched his brother swallow the last of his seman.

"You're still hard. How convenient." England sat up then took off the glove on his right hand with his teeth. He threw the glove over the bed with the rest of their clothing before reaching over to his night stand. He pulled out the small drawer and took out a bottle of lubricant. He took the other glove off with his teeth and threw it to the ground while opening the bottle up with his right hand. England put some of the lube on his finger and began to cover Ireland's penis with it, stroking him in the process.

"Can I request something, officer?"

"And what would that be?"

"Can you uncuff me for a moment?"

"No."

"Please?"

"Begging won't work here."

"But, officer, my wrists hurt."

"I'll think about it. Let me continue lubricating and I'll give you an answer."

"All right..."

England stroked Ireland a little more until he felt that he was all lubed up. Then, he put some more on his fingers, reached behind him to his entrance, and inserted a finger into himself. He let out a quiet moan as he pushed the finger further in.

Ireland laid there and watched as England fingered himself above him. The blond's face was flustered once more as he added more fingers inside him, stretching his entrance for Ireland.

England eventually removed his fingers from himself, blushing madly at Ireland. He began to loosen his tie before untying the whole thing.

"It's a bit warm," England explained as he removed his coat. His tie and coat landed on top of their clothes, turning the pile into a mound. Lastly, England unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off his pale body. The shirt soon joined with the other clothes on the floor.

England reached over to his night stand and grabbed the keys to the handcuffs. He uncuffed Ireland from his bed and kept them away from Ireland as he sat up.

"Is that better?" England asked, no sympathy in his voice.

"Almost." Ireland cuffed one of England's hands, grabbed the other, and quickly cuffed it behind England's back. While England was still recovering from the shock of what happened, Ireland took the keys from him and put them back on the night stand.

"Now I feel better," Ireland replied to England's previous question.

"You git! How dare you cuff an officer! You really want to go to jail, don't you?"

"Don't take it personally, officer. I promise to make this worth your while."

"'Worth my while' my arse! You uncuff me this instant!"

"I guess I'll have to show you, then."

"What are you-" Ireland lifted England up, positioned his penis at his entrance, and brought England down on his penis. England moaned loudly as he felt Ireland enter him deeply, almost hitting that spot that would put him on edge.

Ireland raised England up until he was almost off his penis before pushing him back down onto it. England moaned loudly again, enjoying how close Ireland kept getting to that sensitive spot inside of him. He knew it wasn't going to take him long to lose it.

Ireland thrusted up into England as he pushed him down onto his penis. He had finally hit the spot, making his little brother scream out in pleasure. For a moment, England forgot the cop act and started yelling out Ireland's name every time his spot was hit.

"Seamus! I'm going to cum!" England let out another pleasure filled scream as Ireland sent him over the edge. He came on Ireland's chest and stomach before falling onto him, weakened by their activities. Ireland thrusted into him a few more times before coming inside of him. Seman leaked out of England's entrance as Ireland slowly raised him off of his penis.

Ireland leaned backwards and laid on his back while England rested on his chest. Ireland rubbed England's arms and back as he tried to regain his energy. England listened to his older brother's heartbeat while his head rose and fell with the red-head's chest.

"So, have you thought about my punishment, officer?" Ireland asked, remembering their roleplay.

"I'll let you off with a warning," England said, sounding exhausted and tired.

"What a relief."

"Uncuff me before I have to beat you."

"Okay, _officer_," Ireland joked as he reached for the keys to the handcuffs.

"I'm not playing, Seamus. Uncuff me or I'll show you what else I've been practicing on."

"You almost make me curious, Deartháir Beag." Ireland uncuffed England's hands, allowing him to wrap his arms around his older brother.

"Your curiosity led you this far, Seamus. Follow it any more and you may actually die from it."

"As long as I die making my deartháir beag happy, I'm okay with it."

England leaned up and kissed Ireland before burying his head into his collar-bone.

"You're a little embarrassing sometimes, you know that?"

"Only because I love you, Deartháir Beag."

"I love you too, Seamus."

* * *

Reading over this, I thought _Oh, god, what have I done?_ I also realize this is more of a filler chapter. Oh well. It was still fun to write. I hope you guys enjoyed this!


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